Libertad
by Musical Redhead
Summary: It can be a slippery slope to sleep with your source, especially when you're both keeping a couple secrets from each other and the people around you. If that wasn't enough, the dead bodies and suspects keep piling up. Mystery #2
1. Slither

**Title**: Libertad

**Chapter** **1**: Slither

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**A/N**: Here's the next story in the series! If you missed it, I wrote several BTSS's—scenes that took place after Contraband. They're all at my LJ (Homepage on my profile). I usually warn new readers to go read the story that came first (Contraband) so you don't spoil this for yourself. However, I think Libertad can work as a stand alone, you'll figure out what's going on pretty fast. Just check out the genres, so there won't be any surprises.

_Murder is unique in that it abolishes the party it injures, so that society has to take the place of the victim and on hi__s behalf demand atonement or grant forgiveness; it is the one crime in which society has a direct interest. –W. H. Auden_

**Slither**

Tristan DuGrey jolted awake to the sound of his cell phone. He groaned a little as he reached over to the nightstand and squinted to see the readout glowing brightly in the dark bedroom. He sighed and put his head back down on the soft pillow. A few minutes later, the phone buzzed in his hand. He grudgingly accepted the call.

"What?" he mumbled drowsily.

"Are you on your way?" his partner, Mark Stevenson asked.

"No."

"Get up."

"I don't want to."

"Come on, it seems urgent."

"It always seems urgent."

"I'll be out the door in five minutes. I suggest you get a move on."

"Why do you hate me?"

"I'll see you there," Mark said before disconnecting the call.

Tristan sighed again and pushed the blankets away. He sat up and pulled on a pair of socks. When he stood to retrieve the rest of his clothes, there was movement from the other side of the bed.

"Are you sneaking out in the middle of the night?" a sleepy woman asked.

"Yes. But it isn't the middle of the night. It's morning."

"You aren't going to stay to make me breakfast?"

"When have I ever made you breakfast?" he asked.

Rory Gilmore thought a beat before answering. "Never. But you keep clean bowls in the cabinet and a choice of cereals."

"Okay, but we're at _your_ apartment, so where does that leave us?"

"Yes to the cereal, no to the clean bowls."

"Mm-hmm. I could leave some money on the dresser if you want to get something before you go to work."

"I have to ask that you _not_ do that."

"Why?"

"For one thing, it would put the women's movement back about four hundred years and then you'd have to arrest me."

"Oh, yeah. I love that I always have that option."

"What time is it?" Rory asked, sitting up.

"Early. Hence the darkness."

"Where do you have to go?"

"City College," Tristan answered, putting his dark pants on.

"But that's all the way up by Harlem."

"Yeah, so?"

"So, you're in the twenty-first precinct, City College is in Upper Manhattan, why would you have to go there?"

He shrugged. "Won't know until I get there."

"Was that Stevenson who called you?"

"Yes."

"How did he sound?"

"Like himself."

"But did he sound like the victim was strangled?"

"I couldn't tell, his voice didn't convey that information."

"You should really get to know your partner more."

"You should really not talk so much in the morning . . . more," Tristan grumbled. "I'm thinking of writing to my congressman. No one should talk before seven—maybe eight—in the morning. I'd enforce _that_ law."

Rory got up and went to her closet. Tristan already had it open to take a black shirt out. He furrowed his brows as he watched Rory in the dim light that came from the window. She took a skirt out of the closet and started taking off her nightgown.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Do you really need me to tell you that one, Detective?"

"I see you're getting dressed, but why? You don't have to be at work for a few more hours."

"I'm going along," she answered, buttoning a white blouse she'd just put on.

"Where?"

"With you."

"Why?"

"Because, it's odd that you would have to go all the way to Upper Manhattan. I think it means it's related to one of your other cases. Maybe even the one from Wednesday."

"Why would you think that?"

"The part about it being so far north, how are you not getting this?"

"It's Manhattan, so it isn't _that_ far. And you always want the homicides to be related. You just want a front page story for the _Daily News_," Tristan protested.

"No I don't. I'm just following up on a story. If it doesn't have anything to do with the Anderson strangulation case, I'll tell Jimmy to assign this one to someone else."

"Does you editor appreciate his reporters telling him what to do?"

"Not too much, but I do it anyway."

"Mmm," he mumbled before putting on his pants and tucking in his shirt.

Rory glanced over at him. "What are you doing?" she asked as she buttoned a grey vest that matched her pencil skirt.

"Do you really need me to tell you that one, Doll Face?"

"What are you wearing?"

"Clothes."

"What color are your pants?"

"Grey. I think—it's too dark to tell," he answered absentmindedly as he tied his neck tie.

"You can't wear your grey suit."

"It looks like I can."

"But _I'm_ wearing grey."

"So?"

"So, it'll look like we coordinated it."

"But we didn't."

"Well, still. We can't show up to the same place matching. It would look . . . cute."

"You don't have to show up at all, you know. And we don't work at the same place. No one will notice."

"One of us has to change."

"_I'm_ not changing, the only other suit I have here is the one I wore yesterday—I'm not doing the walk of shame. I think as long as we don't show up in our birthday suits, no one will care."

"No, really—"

"No, _really_. I'm leaving in five minutes, with or without you. Use your time wisely."

"You're not that nice in the morning, anyone ever tell you that before?"

"_You_ may have a time or two."

"Can we make it ten minutes?"

"No," he answered, walking out the door and to the bathroom across the hall.

"How about eight?" she called.

"Five."

"Seven?"

"You're wasting time negotiating. And it won't do any good."

Rory sighed in frustration. She twisted her hair into a fast—not fancy—bun before following him into the bathroom. He was already brushing his teeth when she put toothpaste on her own toothbrush. He finished before her and left the room. Rory grabbed some essential make up items and went back across the hall to get her shoes.

"You could have been making coffee, why are you bothering with the bed?" she asked.

"A person can only do so many push ups before he figures out he should just make the damn bed before he leaves in the morning."

Rory slipped a pair of heels on and they both left the room. She grabbed her purse when they passed the kitchen and stuffed the make up in it. They left the apartment and headed down to the street, where Tristan's black Camaro was parked in front of Olivia's art studio. He clicked the key remote to unlock the doors and tossed his suit jacket in the back seat.

"Try to drive smooth," she instructed. She looked in the mirror on the sun visor as she applied mascara to her lashes.

"I'll see what I can do," he answered, pulling away from the curb and turning on the light in his window. The siren turned on, as well. He drove quickly through the streets, occasionally using lanes that weren't necessarily his as he dodged the early birds on their way to work.

"Look, I bet that place serves coffee," Rory said longingly, pointing out the window.

"Probably so."

"Can we get some?"

"Nope."

"Mean."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

About fifteen later, Tristan parked as close as he could to the college campus and looked in the direction where some uniformed officers were headed. He grabbed his gun from under his seat and put it in the holster on his belt. They were both about to get out of the car when he turned back and grabbed her by the collar of her vest, pulling her over to him.

"Have a good day at work," he said, giving her a quick kiss.

"You too," she answered before frowning down at his tie. "Wait," she said as she started to untie it.

"Usually I'd love to, but I have to get going," he said furtively.

She shot him a grim look. "You can't wear a brown tie with black and grey. You'll clash," she said, showing him the tie.

"Oh. That's what I get for dressing in the dark. Maybe I should have worn my birthday suit after all."

"There, you're good."

He took the tie from her and tossed it in the back seat, then he grabbed his sunglasses and hung them from his shirt collar before getting out of the car. Rory got out too, but counted to ten before following Tristan. She may have only gotten to seven. When she caught up, Tristan was talking with Mark next to an NYPD squad car.

When the dark haired man saw Rory, he smiled. "Those police scanners are working so fast these days," he commented pleasantly.

"Yeah, I have a good one," she replied.

"And what's your excuse?" he asked Tristan, looking to his partner.

"Excuse for _what_?" It didn't sound like he wanted an answer.

Mark shook his head. "I see you're a delight in the pre-dawn hours."

"So I've heard," Tristan said wryly. He and Stevenson headed to the brick building where the homicide took place, Rory followed. She took her notepad and pen out of her purse.

"A janitor called it in. He got here about five o'clock this morning," Stevenson explained as they made their way down the sidewalk. He glanced back at Rory. "You know, I really hate it when she writes while I'm talking."

Tristan turned to her and grabbed the pen from her hand. She glared at him, annoyed, but didn't say anything. She just took another pen from her purse. The detectives ducked under the crime scene tape and Rory watched them enter the academic building.

A few other reporters started to show up, including a Channel 13 news van. The station shared a building with the New York _Daily News_, along with the Associated Press. One of the morning reporters got out of the van with her camera man and walked over to the yellow tape. It was Wendy Lu, a pretty Asian woman with long silky black hair. She was somewhere around Rory's age.

"More," she said with a nod in greeting to Rory.

"Lu," Rory said in return. They might share a building, but it didn't mean Wendy knew Rory didn't use her real name out in the field.

"It's pretty early, are you going to be able to handle it? I know how you guys at the _Daily News_ usually stroll in when I'm half way through _my_ day."

"I'll be just fine once I get some caffeine. And for your information, someone is almost always in the newsroom. But are you going to be able to handle a homicide? Aren't you missing a cat fashion show, or something?"

"This won't be difficult. The police will have to tell us what happened."

"They don't _have_ to tell us anything. Actually, they'd prefer not to. I know how it works. You have to do a lot a legwork if you want a good story," Rory explained. "And if you don't have someone on the inside that's willing the talk, you'll just be repeating whatever vague statement the department spokesperson gives you."

"You mean journalists have contacts? What a novel idea," Wendy said sardonically. "I saw who _you_ walked over with. I'd go to great lengths to make either one of them willing to talk."

"What?"

"Sure," she went on with a nod. "Maybe that's how you always seem to have more details than anyone else."

"You've noticed that? I'm flattered," Rory said, ignoring the implication. "But it isn't all the time."

"Which further proves my point," Wendy continued. "When I saw you on the heels of the gorgeous detectives, I thought, maybe you have some sort of arrangement."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, you know, the kind of reciprocal agreement where backs get scratched and whatnot. How else can you get stories first?"

"You think I have an arrangement with one of _those_ detectives?" Rory asked in disbelief.

"The thought crossed my mind."

"One of those guys doesn't like reporters and the other one refuses to learn my name," Rory said impatiently. "And I'll have you know, that I'm a professional. If I write a better story than other reporters, it's because I work hard to investigate. And the police see enough of me that they trust me. Here's the four-one-one, I _own_ the crime beat. Did you ever think of that?"

"Sure, I just don't believe it."

"Well, I suggest you start," Rory said shortly before walking away. Maybe Tristan was on to something with that no talking law.

She found a place to sit on the curb and read the title on the building. She pulled out her smartphone, knowing the detectives would be a while, and got down to work. She went to the school's website first and clicked on the science department. She wrote down the names and e-mail addresses of the dean and department chair, she'd need a statement from both. Then she made a list of the faculty. She went to Google and started searching. If it was an instructor who was killed, she'd have a head start. When she got about a third of the way down the list, she hit the jackpot. Her eyes widened as she read about one of the teachers.

"Oh my God," she said incredulously. She looked around to make sure no one could see what she was looking at. Wendy was occupied with an update for the morning news, she was talking into her microphone and the camera was rolling. She couldn't have very much information, Rory thought. But Wendy was interviewing a kid who must be a City College student. The brown haired guy had on gym shorts, a t-shirt, and tennis shoes—must be out on a jog, to be out this early, Rory thought.

Rory continued to read the results of her Google search until Detective Stevenson approached the yellow tape to speak with the media. She stood back up and walked over to the small crowd. She was in the back, but it wouldn't matter. It wasn't like Mark was going to give them a whole lot to work with, anyway.

"Who was killed, Detective?" Wendy jumped in first, before he could say anything.

"It was a City College student, but we aren't going to release the name until the family is notified."

"Do you know when the murder took place?" someone from the _New York Post_ asked.

"Time of death is estimated to be some time between five and eight o'clock, yesterday evening. We'll know more later on."

Rory glanced over to Tristan, who was farther off to the left. He'd just finished speaking with the campus police. The sleeves of his black shirt were rolled to his elbows. He shoved his hands in his pockets and he squinted in the sunlight as he watched his partner address the media. She shot him a text, reminding him of the sunglasses he had with him. She watched him read the message and smile before he put his aviators on.

"Was it a break in?" another reporter asked.

"We don't believe so."

"How was the student killed?"

"We are not disclosing the cause of death at this time."

The inquiries continued, but Mark started to repeat himself as the reporters asked questions that he wasn't going to answer. Rory sent the blonde detective another text, letting him know how useless she found his partner. This time, she got a response: a picture of a dead body and a name to go with it. Stevenson was trying to make his getaway, so Rory made hers, too. She had a question, all right, but not one she was willing to ask in front of all the competition. She followed the yellow tape down the sidewalk and Tristan walked over to meet her.

"Did he draw the short straw?" she asked Tristan, jerking her head back at Mark.

"No. But paper beats rock," Tristan said with a grin.

"How did the kid die?"

"Strangled."

Rory raised a brow at that. "Really?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Does the medical examiner know with what?"

"Probably a belt."

"Just like the homicide from Wednesday. I told you, you never believe me."

"Fine, you _might_ be right this time. _Maybe._"

"Do you guys think it's a serial kill—"

"Shush," he said sternly. "Don't go blabbing that around here. We don't know enough to conclusively say it was the same person who killed Anderson a couple days ago."

"Fine. What can you tell me about Dr. Norman Greene?" she asked him.

His eyebrows furrowed angrily down at her. "How the fuck do you know about that?" he demanded. "I know Stevenson didn't say anything about him."

"Language, Detective," she reprimanded in surprise.

He glanced around and grabbed her upper arm tightly, pulling her farther down the sidewalk. "I'm serious, how the hell do you know about him?"

"Google."

"Google?"

She held her phone up for him to see and his eyes got wide when he read results of her search.

He took his sunglasses off to be sure he was seeing right. "Holy shit."

"I know. I couldn't believe it when I read it. So, what's the deal?" she asked.

He didn't answer as he continued to read. Mark joined them after a couple minutes.

"Look at this," Tristan said, handing the phone to his partner.

His eyebrows shot up. "Are you serious?" he asked in disbelief. He turned to Tristan. "Can you keep a secret, like—at all?"

"Yes I can keep a secret. I didn't tell her, she found that herself."

"Uh, hello? Is someone going to tell me what the deal is with this guy? Other than the fact that he was charged with murder five years ago?"

"_Shhh_!" Tristan hissed at her. "Keep it down."

"Tell me!"

"The body was found in his office," he finally told her in a low voice.

Rory's jaw dropped. "Oh my God."

"And the building was locked when he was killed. Any chance you won't write about any of this?" he asked hopefully, handing back her phone.

"I can't not write about this. _They_ will, when they find out," Rory said, nodding her head back to where the other reporters were still milling about. "And they will find out, as soon as they research the science department, like I did. It's not like I was using LexisNexis or any other sophisticated software. It was the school website and Google. Anyone could have found that."

"Can't you hold off, for a couple days?"

"I have a job to do, just like you. If I overlook something like this, it'll look like I'm doing a poor job. And if Dr. Greene shows up and you guys approach him, or drive him off in a squad car, those other vultures are going to be all over it."

"She's right about that," Mark said grudgingly.

"Fine. Do what you want," Tristan retorted unhappily.

"That's what I was planning. And it's not like I'm going to mention he's a suspect. But you're going to have your work cut out for you, if you want to keep it quiet." Tristan sighed heavily, knowing it was true. "Are you guys waiting for him to come into work?"

"Yeah. We know his office hours and spoke with the department chair. He should be in soon, if we go to his house now, we'll just miss him."

"That's if he shows up at all."

"He will. The dean called him." Tristan noticed a coffee cart opening for the day and went over to buy three cups. He walked back to the other two and they each took one.

"That's better," Rory said, sipping her coffee. She glanced back over to her contemporaries and inadvertently made eye contact with Wendy Lu. The woman raised a suspicious brow at Rory, so Rory turned back to the detectives. "I should go to the newsroom and get to work on this."

"See you later, Mary," Tristan said, watching her walk away.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Rory started walking to the street to hail a cab, but changed her mind and headed back to the campus instead. It'd been a while since she was last on a college campus, it wouldn't hurt to take a look around. She walked down the sidewalk and looked up at the gothic style buildings. She saw a box with a window in front of it next to one of the buildings. It had free copies of _The Campus_, the school newspaper. She took one out and skimmed the front page. Then she got an idea and looked at the bottom of the page, where the address of the school's newsroom was.

She continued walking. After some time, tired looking students started showing up for classes. She asked one of them where a building was and she was pointed in the right direction. She entered the building and found the newsroom on the ground floor. There were only a couple people there, sitting at their desks, typing on computers.

"May I help you?" one kid asked as he got up and approached Rory. He was tall, had dark hair, and Rory had a feeling he was the editor. Maybe it was because she'd been editor in college, but she could just tell. Or maybe it was the location of his desk.

"Hi, I'm Veronica More, from the _Daily News_," she said, holding her hand out for him to shake.

"Oh, hi. I'm Alex and I'm the editor here at _The Campus_. What can I do for you?"

"I'm covering a story about one of the students."

"The one who was killed in the science building?" he asked keenly.

"Yes. I was wondering if anyone here at the paper maybe knew him."

"Well, we don't know who the victim is yet. I sent one of our reporters over there, she isn't back yet."

"She might be waiting to see if anything else develops. The police are still there, talking with school officials. They didn't disclose the name, anyway."

"Oh," Alex said, looking confused. "Then how would we know the victim?"

"Well, _I_ have a name."

"You do?" he asked eagerly. "Who was it?"

"You have to keep this to yourself until the police release the information."

"Sure, sure."

"I'm serious. This is like, off-off the record."

"I understand."

"It was Aaron Wilson, did you know him?"

"No, but we could look him up on the student directory," he said, moving back to his desk. Rory followed and grabbed a chair to sit in. "All right, this says he's a graduate student, but it doesn't give us too much else. We could look on Facebook."

"It might not tell us a whole lot, either. Most people have the privacy set so only their friends can see everything."

"True, but it won't hurt," he said, clicking the mouse and going to the social networking site. "Okay, maybe you're right."

"But hold on, who's that girl in the profile picture with him?"

"I don't know, could be a girlfriend. I could ask around, see what I can find out."

"That would be great. Here's my card, call me any time," she said, taking a business card out of her purse and handing it over.

"So, you cover crime?"

"Yeah. I wrote about politics when I got out of college, but after a few years of it, I realized that politicians kind of suck. Plus, I wanted to give New York a try. I occasionally write an observational piece about politics, when the mood strikes. But then I get frustrated and don't write another one for a while," Rory explained.

"Well, New York City _is_ the place to be if you're in the news business."

"True story. Oh, I just thought of something. Do you know what time the academic buildings get locked for the night?"

"Five."

"How would someone be able to get into a building after that?"

"Teacher's assistants have fobs on their student ID's, I have one—"

"Because you're editor. I had one when I was editor of the _Yale Daily News_, in case I needed to get in at night or the over weekend."

"Yale, impressive."

"Oh, thanks. Is there any other way someone could get in?"

"A janitor could let someone in, or they _could_ just be in the building when it gets locked."

"That's true."

"Did the murder take place after hours, then?"

"Yes."

"Did the police confirm that?"

"No."

"So, you know stuff that only the police know?"

"Yes."

"Did you sneak into that building when they weren't looking, or something?"

"No, someone told me."

"The police must like you, to tell you so much."

"Well, it only takes one."

"I have sources on campus, you know."

"Sure."

"So, if you need anything while covering this story, I'd be happy to help."

"I would love your assistance."

"Here's my number, just let me know what you need. I know student workers all over campus. And if I don't know someone, chances are some else here does."

"Then I will definitely be in contact with you."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Tristan and Mark were waiting in the lobby of the science building with the department chair, Dr. Bradford. The school official stood and nodded toward the door, indicating Dr. Greene's arrival. The detectives stood as well and approached the grey haired man, who was in his mid sixties. They showed Dr. Greene their badges, and the man looked concerned.

"Dr. Greene, I'm Detective Stevenson and this is Detective DuGrey. We're here to investigate a murder that took place here last night."

The color drained from the man's face. "I don't know anything about it."

"Do you know why Aaron Wilson would be in your office?" Tristan asked.

Dr. Greene furrowed his brows in thought. "No, I don't even know who that is."

"He isn't one of your students?"

"I don't think so."

"I'll go check the class schedules," Dr. Bradford offered anxiously, walking to his office.

"What's going on here? Was someone in my office?" Dr. Greene asked, worried.

Tristan nodded. "A student was found dead in there."

"I'll cooperate in whatever way you need me to, but I want my lawyer. I waited too long last time and I'm not making that mistake again."

"We'd like to speak with you at the precinct."

The man nodded and went to make a call.

"At least we know what he was referring to," Tristan commented.

A moment later, Dr. Bradford returned. "Aaron Wilson isn't one of our students. He isn't taking any science courses this semester. I've called the Registrar's office. They say he's a graduate mathematics student. A teacher's assistant."

"Do you have any idea why he'd be in your department, then?" Mark asked.

"I have no idea," the man answered. "I've made a call to the security company. They'll get the surveillance video to you some time today."

NNNNNNNNNNNNN

Rory walked to her desk at the newsroom and plopped down in her seat. She sighed tiredly and looked to the desk next to her, where her colleague, Marie, was sitting.

"Morning," Marie said in greeting.

"Is it still morning? I've been up for hours."

"Well, that's what you get when you assign yourself stories," Marie said.

Just then, their editor, James West approached them. "Gilmore, what've you got for me?"

"A student at City College was strangled in the science building," she answered.

"Strangled? Another one?"

"Yes."

"Do they think it's the same per—"

"_Shhh_."

"What?"

Rory shrugged. "I didn't get to ask, I just wanted to get in on the shushing. I'll write up what I have so far. The name probably won't be released until this afternoon, though. The family has to be notified."

"So, who was it?" James inquired.

"What makes you think I know? I just told you, a name wasn't released yet," she reminded him. He didn't say anything. "I don't _always_ know," Rory insisted, but her editor just continued to stare at her. "Aaron Wilson, he was a grad student."

"That's better, see what you can find," he instructed before walking away.

Marie watched James leave before turning back to Rory. "Is that all you found out?"

"No." Rory typed a name into the database on her computer and waited for the results.

"Well, out with it."

"I know he was found in an instructor's office."

"Which instructor?"

Rory turned her screen to the right. "This one."

Marie read the headline Rory pulled up. "Whoa, so he's been down this road before."

"It looks that way. Feel like making a trip to court this afternoon?"

"Sure."

"But first, I'm starving. Is it lunch time yet?"

Marie checked her watch. "It's still pretty early. But close enough for jazz. Let's go down to the cafeteria." They both stood and started to walk out of the newsroom.

"You know who I saw at the crime scene?" Rory asked gloomily.

"O. J.?"

"No."

"Gary Busey?"

"No."

"Dick Cheney?"

"That was a leap."

"Well tell me!"

"I will, I'm just waiting for you to stop guessing."

"You told me to."

"I don't think I did."

"Maybe you're right. Who did you see?"

"Wendy Lu."

"Oh man. I strongly dislike her."

"I know."

"I hate having to share an elevator with her. She looks so smug, just because she's on television."

"I know, like we have any desire to get up at the crack of dawn to cover fluff pieces."

"Seriously. It would have made a better story if it was one of my guesses."

They entered the first floor cafeteria and went over to where the food was kept. Rory picked up a bagel and went over to the toaster. When her bagel popped up, she loaded it with cream cheese and went to pour herself a cup of coffee. Marie met back up with Rory at the check out line and they picked one of the many empty tables.

"So, I guess this afternoon I'll be finding out what I can about the student and the professor."

"Is there anything new on Vernon Anderson?" Marie asked.

Rory shook her head. "I don't think so. He was at a work event Wednesday evening, went home, but didn't make it inside the house. The only clue the police have is a footprint in the mud."

"Good thing it's be raining so much, or they wouldn't have that either."

"Yeah. His wife was out of the state for a convention and no one in the neighborhood saw anything. At least, no one has said anything."

"The detectives haven't found anything odd in his finances or e-mails?"

"I'm not sure. They're probably still waiting on the subpoenas."

"Are you going to try to find a connection between the two strangulations?"

"Of course, if I can. I mean, why else would DuGrey and Stevenson be assigned as the primaries on the homicide this morning? It's out of their precinct's boundaries. That's why I went, anyway."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Tristan was seated at a table across from the professor and his defense lawyer. Mark was standing next to a wall off to the side with his arms crossed, observing the interview.

"Can you tell us what you did yesterday afternoon?" Tristan asked.

"I taught a biology class. It was the lab portion, from three o'clock until five. Then I went back to my office to get my things before leaving. I went home for about an hour, for dinner, and then I returned to work in the lab."

"Did you go back up to your office?"

"Only to get some research. I was in the lab until . . . just before seven," Dr. Greene answered.

"Did you lock the office after you got the research?"

"I believe I did," he answered, before thinking a moment more. "Oh no. I left it unlocked in case I needed to go back, but then I didn't need to. I finished up in the lab and just went back home. I completely forgot to lock the door again."

"You took your research with you?"

"Yes, it's in my brief case now."

"Was there anyone else in the lab with you?"

"There were a couple of teacher's assistants from the department. They must have been working on an assignment."

"When were they there?"

"They came in after I was there and only worked for a short time. I think from five thirty until six thirty. I left after them, a little before seven."

"Were they in the lab the whole time?"

"Yes."

"Do you know who the students were?"

"By sight. If I saw them again, I'd be able to pick them out."

"Were you in the lab the whole time?"

"Yes. Although, I did go next door, to the adjoining lab for supplies. I was in there for about five, maybe ten minutes."

"Did you use your code to unlock the lab?"

"Yes. I used it to go next door, too."

"Did you see anyone else in the building when you were there last night?"

"No."

"Do you know why someone would be looking in your file cabinet—the one with research?"

"I have no idea. I'm not working on anything that's particularly controversial. I especially don't know why a math student would be in my office, looking for something."

"What were you wearing?" Tristan asked.

"What was I wearing?" the man asked, confused. When Tristan nodded, he answered. "I changed when I went home. I put on jeans and a t-shirt. Why?"

"Did you have a belt on?"

"No."

"Detectives," Dr. Greene's lawyer chimed in. "Do you have any other evidence against my client?"

"No," Tristan answered. "But we'll be reviewing the surveillance videos this afternoon. And we'll check the lab for who went in when. We'll let you know if there's anything else we need from him."

"Very well. I do hope you two do a better job of investigating."

"Better?"

"I'm sure you've heard by now that Dr. Greene was charged with murder a few years back."

"Yes, it's come to our attention."

"That ruined my reputation," the professor said. "If this goes anything like that did, I'll be forced to retire."

"It seemed," the lawyer said, "that the detectives could not find who _did_ commit the crime, so they went to work trying to make a case against my client. I can assure you, detectives, this is an innocent man. They didn't have any evidence. I hope I won't have to do your job as well as mine this time."

"You won't," Tristan said before they all left the small room.

When the professor and his legal counsel were gone, Tristan and Mark's superior, Captain Meyer, approached them. He was a balding middle aged man, looking professional in his brown suit. "I called the twenty-fourth precinct," he told them. "They're going to send over the evidence they had from Greene's previous case."

"Are the surveillance videos here yet?" Mark asked.

"Yes. They came about ten minutes ago, let's take a look."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Rory walked though the art studio and waved at Olivia on her way to the back door. She pulled her phone out and used the speed dial as she walked at a snail's pace up the stairs.

"DuGrey."

"Do you know how many steps there are to get upstairs at the art studio?"

"I want to say fourteen."

"Whatever the amount, it's too many."

"You should call the building owners and ask them to put in an elevator."

"No, they'd actually look for a way to do it."

"You just now getting in?"

"Yes," she answered as she reached the top of the stairs. "Whew, now I know how Rocky must have felt."

"You worked late tonight."

"You're one to talk. You're still at the precinct, probably sitting at your desk."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because you answered in your work voice and didn't say hello," she answered as she unlocked the door and went into her apartment. She kicked off her heels and sat her purse on the island in the kitchen as she passed it on the way to her bedroom.

"What does my work voice sound like?"

"Like your time is really valuable and I need to say what I have to say quickly so you can get back to what you were doing."

"All that in a greeting over the phone?"

"Yup. If only you could pick up the skill, then you'd be able to tell how victims are killed, just from Stevenson's voice."

"Uh, yeah, I have plenty other skills. And it's not like he knows that stuff before me, anyway. So what do Lucy and Olivia have planned for the evening?"

"I'm not sure. But I do know that I'm going to need a nap first. I really hope it isn't something that involves a cover charge or a strobe light. Or techno music."

"Did being on a college campus today make you feel old?"

"Totally, it was depressing. Those kids were so much younger than me. I haven't even gone to graduate school yet. I'm going to look so old when I get around to it."

"Don't worry. People further their education at all points of their career. Not everyone prolongs adulthood after earning a bachelor's degree."

"Huh, I just remembered something."

"What?"

"Before I graduated from Yale, I was freaking out because everyone had big plans—Olivia and Lucy were brazenly moving to New York. Paris had been accepted to every law and medical school imaginable. And there I was, without a plan, without a job. I actually considered applying to law school."

Tristan paused for a beat. "Did you?"

"Yeah."

"That's interesting. Where would you have done that?"

"I don't know. The thought only lasted about four seconds."

"Then you came to your senses?"

"Yeah, it didn't seem like my cup of tea."

"Ah."

"But, if I had to pick, I'd probably want the best."

"So, Harvard."

Rory had a feeling he was smirking on the other end. "That would make sense, since I've never been able to shake Paris. But I hear Yale has a pretty good law school. And I do love Yale."

"Eh, it's overrated."

"Hey, anyone who went to Yale is very intelligent."

"Or a legacy."

"Watch it."

"Simmer down, I wasn't talking about you."

"All right then."

"You do love Yale though. Too bad you didn't stick around for a few more years. You could have all kinds of legal knowledge taking up space in that pretty little noggin of yours."

"Yeah, too bad. But I think everything worked out. Oh, hold on. I'm getting another call," Rory said, checking the caller ID. "So much for a nap, it's my mom."

"Okay. Have fun with the girls."

"I will. Don't fall asleep at your desk, Harvard," she said before accepting the other call. "Hello?"

"Hey, what are you doing?" Lorelai asked.

"Lying on my bed."

"Dirty."

"How is that dirty?"

"Are you with a man? Or alleged man?"

"No. I'm all alone."

"Oh, all right. Not so dirty, then. Why are you in bed already? Are you sick? Do I need to come take care of you? I'd be willing to miss Friday night dinner for you, if you need me."

"I'm fine. And I'm not _in_ bed, just on it. I had a long day—thirteen hours."

"Geez, that is long. What time did you get up, five?"

"Close to it."

"Now that's dedication."

"Tell me about it. I was just trying to get some rest before a girl's night with Olivia and Lucy."

"Oh, that sounds fun. You know who loves a good girl's night?"

"I don't know, you?"

"Yes! You should come home next weekend and we'll have one."

"I was just there last weekend. And I might have to go into work next Saturday, I'm going in tomorrow."

"You used to love me. You used to see me every day, not just once or twice a month. What happened to those days?"

"I became a grown up."

"Well, you shouldn't have done that."

"Sorry, I didn't really get a say in it, myself. And I didn't have any fairy dust to fly to Neverland."

"Think about it still, maybe you'll change your mind."

"I'll do that."

"I'm serious. Luke will be moving April out of her dorm next weekend, and I could send Sam with him."

"You'd send a six year old to 'help' just so we could have a girl's night?"

"Yes, see, _that's_ dedication to a first born."

"I'd hate for you to ever be in a Sophie's Choice-type situation."

"I'd choose you."

"I hope you tell us both that."

"Yup, just not at the same time. So, where did we land on next weekend?"

"I'll think about it."

"That's all I can ask for," Lorelai said. "I'll let you rest."

"Okay. Bye, Mom."

"Bye."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

"All right, so Greene was in the science building at the time of the murder. He was working in the lab at the time," Captain Meyer said.

Tristan was sitting on the edge of his desk with his arms crossed, speaking with his boss. His partner was not there yet. "Right. The labs and classrooms are on the first floor of the building and the teachers' offices are all on the second floor. The back door of the building is where teachers and grad students can get in with their fob and their four digit code. They need it to get into the lab, too."

"Did you guys get to talk to all the graduate science students?"

"Yeah. None of them knew Aaron Wilson, though. And it doesn't matter, really, since the tape shows him going into the front doors before five o'clock. He wouldn't have needed anyone from the department to get in."

"The medical examiner estimates the time of death around six thirty. We know Greene was in the building at the time. If the prints in his office only match his and Wilson's, will that be enough to ask Jacobs for an arrest warrant?"

Tristan shook his head. "No. We need to find the other kid in the surveillance video. He came in with Aaron, he's probably the last one who saw him alive," he explained as Mark approached the desk that was pushed against Tristan's.

"I spoke with the dean and the department chair," the captain said. "He's having all his staff members come in to his office to help you guys identify the kid today."

Tristan looked over to his partner. "You ready to go?"

"Yup," Mark answered.

"Let's roll."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Rory was sitting at her desk in the newsroom, reading a transcript from Dr. Norman Greene's first murder trial. There were two. The first was a mistrial and the second ended in a hung jury. From what Rory had read so far, the prosecution was working with practically no evidence. She turned the page when her office phone started to ring.

"Newsroom," she answered.

"Is this Veronica More?" a young man asked.

"Yes."

"Okay, good. This is Alex, the editor of _The Campus_, we spoke yesterday morning."

"Yes, I remember."

"I have something you might find interesting."

"All right, what is it?"

"It's Aaron Wilson's schedule. I know someone who knows someone who works in the Registrar's office."

"You're right, I would find that interesting. Do you have access to a fax machine?"

"Yeah, I'm in the newsroom here on campus, where would you like me to send it?"

Rory gave Alex the number of the _Daily News's_ fax machine, thanked him, and got up to go retrieve the document. After it came through, she went back to her desk and perused the information on the sheet.

"Huh," she said, frowning down at the schedule.

"What?" Marie asked, glancing over at Rory.

"This is Aaron Wilson's schedule," she answered, handing over the paper.

"He sure was taking a lot of math classes."

"Yeah, in fact, _only_ math classes. He wasn't in any science classes at all. Why would he have been in the science building after hours, then?"

"Snooping in Dr. Greene's office, apparently."

"But why?"

Marie shrugged. "Heck if I know."

"Well, I have another department to look into now," Rory said.

"I doubt you'll find anything half as juicy as an instructor who was already accused of murder."

"Probably not. Did you get a chance to read some of the articles about that case?"

"Only a couple. I had to type up a report—it took me a while. Why?"

"Well, the victim that was killed five years ago, he was strangled."

"He was?"

"Yeah."

"That doesn't sound good for Greene."

"No, I'm half way through the first trial. But so far, there hasn't been any hard evidence presented to the jury. It's just very circumstantial."

"Maybe the D.A. was just saving up the good stuff for later."

"Maybe," Rory said doubtfully.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

A couple hours later, Tristan and Mark were standing in Dr. Bradford's office. The dean was there, as well. They were watching the surveillance video. They watched as, Aaron Wilson walked into the science building just before five o'clock with another guy, looking to be college age. Around six thirty-five, the other kid walked out of the front entrance, but alone.

There had been a second video, one from the camera at the back of the building. It was the video that showed Dr. Greene entering the building at six o'clock and leaving just before seven. It also showed the two teacher's assistants that were in the lab at the same time as Greene.

The science faculty was taking turns watching the tape, in an attempt to identify the kid that came in with Wilson. Problem was, he was wearing a green hat, making it difficult to see his face.

"I can't tell who it is," a middle aged man with grey hair said, squinting at the television.

"Have you ever seen the other kid, the one without a hat, in the building?" Stevenson asked.

"No, I've never seen him before. Sorry."

"Thanks anyway," Mark said, indicating the man could leave. Before he got out the door, he turned. "I don't think Norman did it, he loves the students here, and he'd never do something like this."

Two more teachers walked in, this time two woman. One was younger, in her late thirties, the other woman a bit older. Tristan's phone buzzed and he stepped out of the office to answer while Stevenson played the tape for the women.

"DuGrey."

"See, that's the voice I was talking about. Your work voice."

"Make it quick, I'm in the middle of something."

"Hey, that's the same thing I said the other night."

"Very funny. Now, you're wasting time. What do you need?" Tristan asked Rory, glancing back into the office.

"I don't think the professor did it."

"Didn't do what?"

"Kill the guy five years ago. I've been reading the court transcript all morning."

"That's nice. But I'm investigating a recent homicide, not a cold case. And even if I was, I would need more than your opinion and the shysters' spin on what happened."

"I know, I'm just saying. He's been in a bad spot before, maybe it happened again. He could have some incredibly bad luck when it comes to this kind of stuff."

"That's some _extremely_ bad luck."

"Mm-hmm. You want to know what else I found out today? It's pretty interesting."

"What?" he asked, glancing back into the office, ready to end the call.

"I found out that Aaron Wilson had no business being in the science building. Ever."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he was a graduate math student and a teacher's assistant."

"That _is_ interesting."

"I suppose you already knew that?"

"Since yesterday morning."

"Oh."

"But I'm very impressed—as always—that you figured it out all on your own."

"Thank you."

"You're at work then?"

"Yeah. How long are you going to be?"

"An hour or two. Will you be there still?"

"I can be."

Mark stuck his head out of the office. "DuGrey, get back in here," he said.

"See you then, got to go," Tristan said into the phone before hanging up and pocketing the device. He stepped back into the office just as the two women finished watching the video for a second time.

"Doesn't he look like that kid who sits in the lobby sometimes?" the younger woman asked her colleague. She darted her eyes toward the department chair.

"On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays?" the older woman asked.

"Yeah, he always has that green hat on. Do you know whose class he's here for?"

"I'm not sure, but he's definitely in the lobby every other afternoon before class."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Around one thirty, Tristan and Rory walked into his twelfth floor apartment in Midtown, Manhattan. It was a modest sized one bedroom apartment. Rory made her way to the right, where the living room was, with a flat screen television and comfy furniture. She plopped down on the couch and propped her feet up on the coffee table.

Tristan sat down too, and looked at her. "Want to wrestle?" he asked with a smirk.

"Maybe later," she answered with a smile. "I'm too tired now."

"Uh-oh. I better make some coffee then, the day isn't over yet."

"Coffee sounds like it'll do the trick," she said.

Tristan got back up and went to the adjoining room. "Want to play _Nintendo_?"

"Sure. What game do you want to play?"

"You pick."

"The one with the Italian guys. I think I'm better at that one than the one with the monkeys."

"You aren't, but okay. _Super Mario World_ it is," Tristan said as he waited for the coffee to brew. When it was finished, he poured two cups and took them over to the couch, handing one to Rory. She took a grateful sip and sat it down on the coffee table. Tristan took his turn on the game first.

"I read your report in the paper this morning."

"And what did you think?"

"I think you got all the facts right."

"I'd be a pretty terrible reporter if I didn't. Especially since you told me exactly what the facts were."

"I also noticed that you didn't mention anything about Greene's previous charges."

"No, not yet, anyway."

"So you reconsidered giving it a day or two?"

"Don't get too excited. I wasn't doing _you_ any favors," she said, taking the court transcripts out of her bag and setting them on the table in front of Tristan.

When he completed the first level, he glanced down at the thick document. "Transcripts?"

"Yeah, I'm still reading the first one, there're two. Did you know there were two trials?"

"Yeah, but I don't know all the details yet. Everything from that case is going to be delivered to the precinct. Hopefully it doesn't take them forever to get it to us."

"From what I've read, there won't be much evidence."

"Ah, something to look forward to."

"Anyway, I didn't want to write something with half-assed research. I'd rather wait a day or two to get it right, rather than do a sloppy job of it before everyone else. You can read through those, if you want."

"Sure. I'll peruse them tomorrow," he said, looking at Rory pointedly. "You know, after my turn, it's your turn."

"Oh, yeah," she said hastily, putting her coffee down and picking up her controller.

"Whoa, where's the fire, Luigi?" he asked once she'd started her turn.

"I like to see him run fast. His arms just fly behind him."

"Yeah, cool. You fell down that hole really fast, too. It was awesome."

"Oh well. I'll get it next time."

"That a way to think positive," he said, picking his controller back up. "What did you girls do last night?"

"Thankfully, we had a movie night."

"What did you watch?"

"_The Godfather_."

"Which one?"

"Yes."

"So it was an all-night movie night."

"It did run pretty late."

"That must be why you're so tired now."

"_Or_, maybe it's because I work so hard."

"Sure, but I'm going to go with the late night thing."

"Hmm." Rory took her turn. Tristan watched her with furrowed brows as she moved the controller up and down when Luigi jumped. The little man dressed in green didn't jump far enough. "I don't think this would keep happening if you let me be Mario."

"I disagree," he said dryly. "Now _I_ want to watch a movie with the Italian Mob. Let's watch _Goodfellas_ later."

"Fine. But if you ever ask me to hide a gun for you, I think we're going to have to call it quits."

"Noted."

"If you told me that Joe Pesci and Robert De Niro are really in the Italian Mob, I'd believe you."

"I'd believe it, too."

Rory looked disappointedly at the television. "Ah man, my game is over already," she lamented before brightening. "Do I have to start back at the beginning again? Because I think I'm getting good at that first level."

"You don't have to. Unless it'll boost your self-esteem."

"Level one it is, then."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

"Come on, Rory. It's time to go," Tristan called down the hall. He was in the kitchen and ready for dinner. He was freshly showered and shaved and was wearing a dress shirt and blazer with his slacks.

"I'm almost ready!" Rory yelled back.

"We're going to be late. We'll miss our reservation and have to sit at the bar."

"What time is the reservation for?"

"Seven."

"We have plenty of time. Don't be so dramatic."

"I'm not being dramatic. I'm being hungry."

"I bet you could get us there, even if we were running late."

"How would I do that?"

"You know—if it was an emergency."

"It isn't. So what are you referring to?"

"That handy siren and light you have on your car."

"Oh, that sounds like a good idea. Then you can write a nice article about the cops in this town abusing their privileges."

"You think I'd do that?"

"I'm quite certain you would."

"It must be a real drag to date me."

"Pretty much," he said as Rory walked down the hall.

She had on a knee length black skirt and a red blouse with a thick black belt. She smiled slyly when she saw Tristan, who looked her up and down appreciatively. "Oh good, I don't have to ask how I look."

"Why not?"

"Because of your face. I'm pretty confident I'm going to get lucky later tonight."

"It isn't later yet. You're going to need shoes for now."

Rory looked down. "Oh, yeah. Probably so," she said, scampering back to the bedroom. She came back a moment later, wearing heels, and passed the kitchen in a hurry. "Come on, we don't want to be late," she exclaimed. "Think about what you want, I'm getting chicken."

Tristan rolled his eyes and shook his head, following Rory to the door as she opened it.

She paused for a moment and turned back. "If Ray Liotta is at the restaurant tonight, we'll have to leave."

He nodded in agreement. "That's probably a good general rule to follow in life," he said as they walked out of the apartment.


	2. Serial Killer

**Title**: Libertad

**Chapter 2**: Serial Killer

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**A/N**: Thanks for the reviews! I hope you enjoy chapter two.

_There are no secrets better kept than the secrets that everybody guesses.__ –__George Bernard Shaw __ [__"Mrs. Warren's Profession," act III]_

**Serial Killer**

Rory was sitting at her desk Monday morning, looking over the notes she'd written about the two strangled victims, when her phone rang.

"Newsroom."

"Hi, Veronica? This is Alex again."

Rory sat up straighter. "Hi, Alex, what's up?"

"I have a name for you, someone knew the girl in Aaron Wilson's profile picture. She's Julie Garcia and she lives in a dorm, here on campus. I could show you where her building is, if you'd like."

"I would love, actually. Are you in the newsroom? Where can I meet you?"

"I know of a coffee shop, if you like coffee."

"Only as much as I like to breathe."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Tristan and Mark were sitting across the table from Aaron Wilson's parents. They'd made funeral arrangements over the weekend. It was a drastic change in plans, considering they had been preparing for a graduation party before Friday.

"When was the last time you saw your son?" Mark asked.

"It was spring break, back at the end of March," Mrs. Wilson answered. "He came home for a few days. He was busy interviewing for jobs at the time."

"Did he have any offers?"

"Not that we know of," Mr. Wilson said. "But he had four or five interviews, I think."

"Do you know if Aaron had any enemies, or if there was anyone who had a problem with him?"

"He never mentioned it, if he did. But he teaches a couple classes, as a part of his graduate assistantship. Maybe one of his students was mad about a grade."

"Do you know why he would go into the science building?" Tristan asked.

Mr. and Mrs. Wilson thought about it a moment and exchanged a look before the woman answered. "Well, his girlfriend, Julie, is a science student here. She would have a lot of science classes."

"Did he ever mention a Dr. Norman Greene?"

"No, I've never heard of him."

"We have a video of Aaron walking into the science building with another guy," Tristan explained. "Would you take a look to see if you can identify who it is?"

"Yes, of course."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

A couple hours later, Rory was in a dorm room, sitting in a chair opposite Julie Garcia, a young olive skinned woman in her early twenties. Alex had to go to a class, or he'd have stayed with Rory for the interview.

"How did you and Aaron meet?" Rory asked nicely.

"He was a teacher's assistant and I was in one of the classes he taught. I actually knew what was going on in class, but I'd go ask him for help anyway. He was just really cute and smart. He knew everything there was to know about math. I don't know anyone who loves—sorry, loved—math as much as he did."

"Did he know you were pretending?"

"Yeah. At the end of the semester, he commented that for someone who always got an A on tests, I sure needed a lot of help. So I said something flirty back and he asked me out. We've dated for two years now."

"You were both graduating soon, right?"

"Yeah, me with a bachelor's degree, him with a master's."

"Are you a math major, too?"

"Oh, no, science education."

"Science?"

"Yeah."

"Do you know why he was in the science building last Thursday night?"

Julie shook her head. "No. I had a class at three and he walked me to my building. But he didn't come in. He was on his way to the library. He had a big final paper he was working on. So that was the last time I saw him or talked to him," she said, taking a tissue from the box on her desk. "I came back here to do homework and study all evening. I didn't want to bother him while he was working."

"You know, Julie," Rory said gently, "as his girlfriend, you're in a unique position. You probably know more about him than anyone else. You might know things about him that no one else knows. Can you think of anything?"

"Well, he was offered a job and he was waiting to tell his parents, he wanted to surprise them."

"What was the job?"

"It was at a textbook company. He'd get to do math problems all day, making sure the books had the right answers. I think he'd get to write equations, too. Aaron really just loved to do math—he didn't want to teach it, though. He was excited about the job, but I think he saw or overheard something after his interview."

"Do you know what it was?"

"No, but he was asking about teachers in _my_ department."

"The science department?"

"Yeah."

"Did he ask about anyone in particular?"

"Uh, yeah, a few. It was after he saw some of my textbooks. Some of the professors co-write them. Some write their own for the courses. Mine are over there," she said, pointing to a stack on her desk.

Rory read the authors and found Norman Greene's name on one of the spines. "What was he asking about?"

"Just about how much the books costs and if I knew who published them."

"Could I take a look at them?" Rory asked.

"Sure."

Rory scribbled down the titles, authors, and costs of the books. She was about to check out the publishers when there was a sharp knock at the door. Julie got up to answer. Rory wasn't entirely surprised to hear Detectives DuGrey and Stevenson on the other side of the door, explaining why they were there. Julie let them in and Rory smiled sweetly and waved when they stopped at the sight of her.

"How does she do this?" Mark asked his partner without taking his eyes from Rory.

"I've suspected for a while now that she's a sorceress," Tristan answered.

Mark nodded. "That explains a couple things."

"I guess that's my cue to go," Rory said, turning to Julie. "Thanks for your time."

"No problem."

Rory stopped in front of the detectives on her way out. "Turner," she said, looking at Mark and then to Tristan, "Hooch. Nice of you to drop by."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Rory walked out of the building and decided to get another cup of coffee while she contemplated what to do next. She started down the sidewalk and got about a block away when all of a sudden, the detectives she'd just left behind ran past her.

Tristan bumped into her a little, maybe on purpose. "Woops, sorry, Mary."

"Hey, that was a short interview," she said, hurrying to catch up with them. "What's the rush?"

"We have to get somewhere fast, so we're going fast."

"Where do you have to go?" she asked, thinking about how her decision to wear flats for the day was a good idea.

"Across campus," Tristan answered.

"Why?"

"We got a call. You'll find out whatever it is pretty soon, seeing how you're tagging along." He glanced back at her and snatched her wrist, forcing her to run faster. "Keep up."

They didn't stop until they were at another dorm building. This one wasn't as large as the one they'd left. The place was swarming with police officers and vehicles with flashing lights. There were groups of students standing outside the building, some looked worried, others confused. Several looked as though they just woke up. The two men slowed down to talk with some uniformed officers and campus police as they disappeared into the building.

After she'd caught her breath, Rory moved closer to a group of kids who were standing on the sidewalk. "Excuse me," she started, getting the attention of the group, "but do you guys live here?"

"Yeah, we're from the fourth floor," a girl answered.

"Do you know what happened?"

"We were in the lounge on our floor, just hanging out between classes, and we heard someone scream downstairs," the boy next to Rory explained. "A couple of us went down, because the screaming didn't stop."

"What did you find?"

"One of the girls on the third floor was backed up against the wall, staring into one of the rooms. And when she saw us, she started yelling, 'He's dead, he's dead!'"

"Did you see who it was?"

"Yeah, it was the third floor resident advisor, Lance Sooner."

"How did the girl get into his room?"

"Oh, the door was probably open, most people keep their doors open around here—we all know each other."

"I see. Did you see what happened to Lance?"

"He was just lying on the floor and he wasn't breathing. We called 911 and tried CPR, but we never got a pulse. Then all the police and EMT people got here and we had to get out of the way."

"Too bad he didn't have a roommate," the boy commented. "That dude would have gotten straight A's this semester."

Rory took out some of her business cards to hand out to the students. "Here, in case you think of anything else. Thanks guys." She turned and started rooting through her purse, looking for a pen, so she could write down what they'd told her—not that she was likely to forget. "Shoot, I left my pen in Julie's dorm room," she said as she continued to search her purse. "Did he already take the rest?"

She dug around a little more, but didn't come up with anything to write with. She looked around, there was one kid with shaggy brown hair a few feet away. He looked vaguely familiar, but she wasn't sure where or when she'd seen him.

"Excuse me, but do you have a pen on you?" she asked him.

He looked over, surprised someone was speaking to him. "Oh, uh, no. Sorry."

"That's okay, I'll just e-mail myself," she said, taking out her phone instead. "Do you live here too?"

"Uh, yeah."

"What floor?"

"First."

"So you didn't see what happened?"

"No. I just heard all the sirens and came out to see what was happening."

"Did you know Lance Sooner?" Rory asked as she typed herself a message. No one answered her question, and when she looked up, the kid was gone. She looked around, but didn't see him anywhere. She furrowed her brows for a moment, but just shrugged and went back to her message.

When she was finished, she made a call to James, to let him know there'd been a suspicious death at City College and that she was on it. Then she sent a text to Tristan, asking if Lance Sooner was strangled. When he responded twenty minutes later, it was only to call her a show off. More reporters started to arrive, along with a few news vans. A second student death on a college campus in five days was bound to get a lot of media attention. Apparently, it was still early enough for the morning news reporters to be out covering breaking stories, seeing how Wendy Lu had walked over with her camera man and started rolling tape almost immediately.

After another hour of waiting around, a gurney was rolled out with a black body bag. A lot of the cops exited the building, along with the detectives. Rory watched them, as Mark flipped a coin and smiled. Tristan shook his head in disappointment and started walking towards the journalists. A lot of the reporters started shouting out questions before he even made it to the yellow crime scene tape. He stared them down defiantly and didn't say anything until they were quiet.

"I'll make an official statement and then you can ask questions," he started. "A student died in his dorm room this morning about two hours ago. It has been ruled a homicide. We have reason to believe it was not forced entry, so we think the victim knew his attacker. We'll release the name of the deceased after the family is notified."

With that, Tristan walked away. The reporters started asking questions again, but he didn't turn back.

"He said we could ask questions," Wendy complained, not too far from Rory.

"But he didn't say he'd answer any," she told the other reporter.

"Well, maybe he needs a little one-on-one persuasion."

"That's possible, go give it a shot. You'll probably be stealthier without the camera man though."

Rory watched as Wendy walked over to where Tristan was standing, talking with Mark. The woman said something and the detectives gave her annoyed looks. Tristan jerked his head back where she'd come from, probably telling her to get lost. When she walked back, she was scowling and muttering to herself. She didn't make eye contact with Rory.

The crowd started to disperse and most of the cops left after Captain Meyer spoke with them. When there were a lot less people around, Rory went over to the detectives.

"You were eloquently vague in your statement," she told Tristan.

He shrugged, uncaring.

"Uh-oh. She sounds dissatisfied with your performance," Mark said to his partner with a grin.

"It's okay. He's probably used to being inadequate by now."

Tristan cocked a brow at her in warning. Mark snickered before his phone started to ring, he excused himself to answer.

"So, another one was strangled then? The kids who found him said he wasn't breathing," Rory said.

"Yeah," Tristan replied grimly.

"What's your next move?"

"Routine questioning."

"These two were both at City College."

"I noticed. Plus, it was another teacher's assistant. There was an open grade book sitting out on his desk."

"So maybe an undergraduate was unhappy with the TA's over their grades."

"Maybe."

"You still can't say it's the same person who's doing this?"

"We don't know how Anderson fits in—other than the method. And weapon."

"But still. You guys could at least tell the press how the City College kids were killed. Couldn't you just acknowledge that they _might_ be related?"

"We don't want to start a panic."

"These students have a right to know if someone among them is strangling their classmates."

"I'm not the one to make that call," he told her firmly.

"It can't just be a coincidence that you two are being assigned so many investigations all at once. Don't _you_ think it might be the same person?"

Tristan shrugged as he stared into the distance. "Don't know yet. But maybe."

"So, who makes the call? The captain?" He nodded silently. "Then maybe you should have a word with him. You can be persuasive," she said. She saw a hint of a smile play at his lips. "I'm not being cute here, I'm serious. At some juncture in your life you acquired the skills to effectively win people over when it's important. I think it's pretty important right now."

"Hmm," Tristan responded indifferently.

"You know what I'm talking about," she said evenly before turning to walk away.

"I'll talk to him," she heard him say as she continued down the sidewalk.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

It was mid afternoon when Rory sat down at her desk in the newsroom.

"Another one bites the dust?" Marie asked.

"Yup. Is Jimmy around?"

"He's in a meeting."

"All right, I'll type up what I have so far. It's going to be somewhat similar to what I wrote Friday. Although, I have some quotes from the kids who found the dead body. And I stopped in at _The Campus_ newsroom to talk with the editor again. He's looking into the victim for me. Maybe we'll get some more information this afternoon."

"Did you get your interview with Aaron Wilson's girlfriend?"

"Oh yeah, that seems like such a long time ago. I'll have to go back through my notes. She was a science major."

"That could explain why her boyfriend was in her building."

"Actually, it doesn't. She said he went to the library to work on a paper that night," Rory said, thinking back to what the girl had told her earlier that morning. "Hey, where was it that Vernon Anderson worked?"

"Uh, Sterling Publishing. Why?"

"Maybe there _is_ a connection between him and Aaron Wilson," Rory said, narrowing her eyes as she thought.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Tristan was standing next to his desk. He and Mark were looking through the evidence and police records from Dr. Greene's previous case. Someone from the twenty-fourth precinct had dropped it off that afternoon when they were still at City College.

"What was the relationship between Greene and the victim?" Mark asked.

Tristan scanned a police report in his hand and raised a brow. "Yes."

"What?"

"Yes, the two men were _in_ a relationship."

"Oh, like—partners?"

"I guess."

"So like us," Mark said with a grin.

"No. Nothing like us," Tristan said wryly. "All right, I'll take these police reports home to read tonight. I already read the court transcripts."

"I'll look over some stuff too. Are you heading out?"

"Yeah, see you tomorrow."

Tristan tucked a file folder under his arm and walked to the hallway. He stood in front of the elevator and reached for the button. But before he could press it, the doors opened to reveal Rory inside. He smiled involuntarily and glanced around at the elevator doors.

"It's like magic," he said, joining her. "I was only joking about that sorceress thing earlier. What did you come for?"

"You."

"That's what I like to hear," he said, putting an arm around her shoulders.

"Did you guys ever get to talk with Julie Garcia again?"

"No. It's on my to-do list. You're on my other to-do list," he said with a smirk.

"Well don't forget. I think she had some helpful information," Rory said as the elevator let them out at the ground floor.

Tristan dropped his arm to gently push her at the small of her back. "What kind of information?" he asked as they walked out the front doors of the precinct and down the stairs.

"She said Aaron walked her to the science building around three before he went to the library to work on a paper."

"Did she know if he was with anyone?"

"I don't know, I didn't ask. Should I have?"

"Nope, don't worry about it."

"Mm-hmm. Anyway, I decided _I'd_ to go to the library tonight."

"Want a ride?"

"Are you giving them out?"

"Only to certain people. You happen to be on the list."

"Well I'd be stupid to turn that down," she said as they walked to his car and got in.

"Is this library visit for business or pleasure?" he asked as he drove out of the parking lot.

"Business, but that doesn't mean it can't be pleasurable."

"You set your bar pretty low."

"Good thing for you, huh?" she asked with a smile.

"You know, when other people are around, it sounds like you're making wildly unsupported assumptions. But when it's only us, it just makes me feel insecure."

"Well I wouldn't want you to get too confident and stop trying."

"Mission accomplished," Tristan said dryly. "So, are the libraries here in New York up to your standards?"

"For the most part. Although, no library can compete with my favorite library."

"It wouldn't be located in New Haven, Connecticut, would it?"

"It would."

"You know, Yale's library was founded by some really intelligent guys."

"Oh, I know. I know everything about Yale."

"Then you know where those guys were educated?"

"I might, but maybe you'd like to tell me."

"Harvard."

"No!"

"It's the truth. So, you're welcome. And Yale's _is_ nice, for second best—and largest."

"Hey, bigger isn't always better."

"Actually, when considering libraries—and other things—that _is_ the case."

"Too bad for you, huh?"

"One day you're going to pay for your smart remarks."

"Ooh, I hope it's soon. You were looking good today, not letting those reporters run things or badger you."

"Did you like that?"

"The reporter in me didn't find it helpful."

"That must have been a frustrating internal struggle for you," he said, pulling up to a large building. "Well, here we are. Don't stay too late, there are dangerous men afoot."

"There's a dangerous man right in _here_."

He grinned. "Hey, I'm the good guy—which again, must be frustrating for you."

"Basically. Have a good night, see you tomorrow?"

"Yup."

She gave him a kiss before getting out of the car. He waited for her to enter the library before continuing his drive home.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

The next morning, Tristan and Mark were in the library at City College, speaking with an IT person. They'd gone back to talk with Julie Garcia and she'd told them the same thing she told Rory: Aaron had been in the library before he went to the science building.

"Okay, he was at station twelve, which is here," the IT guy said, pointing to a labeled diagram of the library's computer lab.

"Do you know what he was working on?" Mark asked.

"It looks like he didn't use the internet at all. But he had Microsoft Word open the whole time he was logged in."

"What time was that?" Tristan asked.

"He logged in at three twenty-four and logged out at four thirty-five."

"That matches Julie's story and the security tape from the science building," Mark commented.

"Was anyone working on the computers next to him?" Tristan asked.

"Yes, there was someone on his left who logged in an hour and a half before him," the IT guy said, jotting down a user name. That person left after Aaron, at five o'clock. The person to his right was logged in from two o'clock until . . . four thirty."

"Are there security cameras in here, since there's all this electronic equipment?" Mark asked.

"Yeah, I can actually get it without the help of someone from the security company. I'll just have to make a call."

Tristan and Mark went over their notes and made a game plan for the rest of their day. It was about thirty minutes later when the IT guy had the video ready. The detectives looked over his shoulder as the tape was fast forwarded to the time they needed to review.

"There's the kid on station thirteen, at two o'clock," Mark said, watching the screen in front of them. After fifteen minutes, the kid left. They sped up the tape until Aaron Wilson sat down at computer twelve. The person to his left was already there, it was a girl. At four fifteen, a kid with a green hat came in and sat down next to Aaron.

"They know each other," Tristan said, observing the two conversing.

"Do you know what the person on that station was looking at?" Mark asked the technician.

"He was looking at a few websites with stock market information." The kid in the video had taken a sheet out from his backpack and was writing as he looked back and forth from the computer screen to his assignment.

"Hey, wait, rewind a little," Tristan said. "He didn't log into the computer. He just sits down and starts clicking the mouse. He didn't need to type in his user name and password. The other guy forgot to log out when he left."

"So the user log in doesn't match _that_ student's information," Mark said.

"We're going to need to find that girl on station eleven, find out if she overhead those two talking," Tristan said, watching the two boys talking before Aaron logged out and left the lab with the kid in the green hat.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

It was late in the morning when Rory walked back to her desk as she perused a freshly faxed document. She glanced at the time in the corner of her computer monitor and stood back up to put on her black trench jacket, belting it at the waist. James was reading something over the shoulder of the reporter to Rory's left.

"I'm going to go meet a source for lunch," she announced to the people around her.

"Good. See, that's why Gilmore is my top crime reporter. She finds stories before they find her _and_ she regularly takes the time to talk with people in high places. You should all be so devoted."

"Sure, devotion to the job, that's what it is," Marie said ironically.

"You don't think so?" James asked.

"Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy," she said dismally, shaking her head. "Do you really believe that same old line every week? Tell me something, do others find your naivety charming?"

"What?"

"James, Rory is going on a date."

He looked to Rory, who was smiling grimly at her co-worker. "Are you going to lunch?" James asked.

"Yes."

"Are you meeting with a source?"

"Yes."

"Is it a date?"

"I don't know. Do you end _your_ dates by returning to the newsroom?"

"No."

"Then it's not a date."

"There you go," he said, looking back to Marie. "I believe her story."

Rory raised a brow in triumph and picked up her umbrella. She bid the others adieu and walked out of the newsroom.

"You know, you really ought to be a better gossip, for a journalist," Marie told her boss.

"What do you mean?"

"If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm not going to be the one to tell you."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Twenty minutes later, Rory walked into the detective's squad at the twenty-first precinct. Tristan wasn't at his desk, but Stevenson was at his, so she sat down in the chair next to him.

"Is it Tuesday already?" he asked when he looked up and saw who it was.

"I don't know about already. It's only the second day of the week. But yes, it's Tuesday."

"So, how are _you_," he asked pointedly.

"I'm fine. How are you?"

"As good as I can be, considering. How's DuGrey?"

"Uh, I don't know. He works with _you_ all day, you'd know better than me."

"Oh, come on. Just confess, you'll feel better."

"To what? Have I committed a crime?"

"Confess to whatever it is you're doing with DuGrey."

"What do you _think_ I'm doing with him?"

"Well, you seem like a girl with standards. So, slumming, I guess."

"I'm still not sure what you're referring to."

"Sure you do. You're having a salacious affair."

Rory's jaw dropped. "Salacious? That's ridiculous. You know we can barely get along."

"I figure that's just foreplay," he said with a grin. "Now, don't play dumb with me. You know what I do for a living. I pick up on things."

"Like what?"

"Well, we should start at the beginning. See, a while back, you showed up on the scene—"

"Wrong, _he_ showed up. I was already on the scene."

"Fine. Either way, he definitely had an eye on you, not that he _said_ he did. But the weird part was that you seemed to have one on him, too."

"I think you must have imagined it all."

"I'm not finished yet. Even when you aren't covering one of our cases, you still meet him every week for lunch."

"Well, we're . . . friends—sort of. And you know he's my police source, I have to keep his lips loose."

Mark smiled widely. "I don't doubt that. And he's always been all too willing to spill his guts to you."

"I don't think he spills _all_ his guts to anyone."

"That's true enough. It's why I'm having this conversation with you now. I usually don't like to poke my nose in other people's business—"

"It's your job to poke your nose in other people's business."

"He can keep his private life to himself, for all I care," Mark continued as though she hadn't interrupted. "I'm just trying to learn more about my partner. We'll never pull off a convincing bromance if he doesn't learn to open up more."

"Okay, fine. Do you want to know something about our history? I think it'll prove you're wrong. Did he ever tell you about our first kiss?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Do tell."

"It was in high school—"

"But you spurned his advances in high school—much to his consternation."

"I know, you were right about my standards. Plus, he was busy being a jerk. But it happened. And afterwards, I cried and ran away."

"So you're saying the second kiss was better?"

"What?"

"You said you cried after your _first_ kiss."

"Did I?"

"Yeah, I'm a good listener."

"Well, I misspoke. We only kissed that one time in high school."

"Ah, I understand. The second was more recent."

"I think I'd like to plead the fifth."

"People always seem guilty when they do that. Those lunches still just about work?"

"Yes."

"Then assuming you've locked lips again, you're level of professionalism is an inspiration—to be able to get past it and still work so close."

"Maybe I should wait somewhere else."

"No, we're having a nice chat."

"Where _is_ he? He's late for lunch."

Mark nodded at the captain's office. Rory could hear loud male voices. "They're talking with Jacobs."

"Oh, his favorite person," Rory said ironically.

Mark nodded. As if on cue, Tristan and the redheaded prosecutor came out of the office, but they were still arguing. Rory and Stevenson watched and listened to the interaction.

"We found enough proof. Just charge him with murder one already," Tristan said.

"You don't have any forensic evidence, though," Jacobs argued.

"So? You don't need any. We found plenty admissible evidence. You know as well as I do that it's enough."

Rory turned back to Mark. "What are they arguing about this time?"

"Talbit case."

"Still? You guys worked on that for months. I thought you made an arrest."

"We did, and Jacobs charged him for a few things. But he's dragging his feet with murder charges. The last time he charged someone, it was a bit premature and the judge didn't let it go to trial at the arraignment."

"Yeah, Tristan was pretty mad about it."

"You don't have to tell _me_."

They turned back to listen some more. "Do you want me to get a medical expert as a corroborating witness? I have a friend who went to Harvard Med—if that's good enough for you."

"I guess that could work."

"_Yeah_ it'll work. And if you just present the evidence to the jury in a creative way, you'll be fine. You _did_ learn how to do that at your law school, right?" Tristan demanded. "If you didn't, I'm going to need a pay raise." Both men went back into the captain's office.

"See that? Just when I think it's going to turn into a fist fight, DuGrey makes an empty threat."

"He can get a little hot headed at times, can't he?"

"Mm-hmm. He said he was giving up arguing with Jacobs for Lent."

"Lent is over."

"Then his rice bowl must have been full, because I could never tell the difference."

"Well, his dad's a lawyer and they don't really talk," she reasoned before deciding to change the subject. "So, how's your girlfriend?"

"What girlfriend?" he asked suspiciously.

"I heard you have one."

"Now where did you hear that?"

"Someone told me."

"Right. That's private."

"So is _my_ life. I'm just showing as much interest as you were," Rory said. "Now really, how is she? She's a schoolteacher, right? That's so cute, a teacher and a cop. Have you gone to talk to her class yet, to tell them what it's like to be a policeman?"

"No. Am I going to have to do that?"

"You might. And speaking of girlfriends, I don't know why you keep insisting DuGrey and I are hot and heavy. He has a girlfriend."

"Supposedly."

"You don't believe it?"

"I believe it. I just don't know why he went to the trouble of making someone up, when it's clearly you."

"You still haven't offered any proof."

"That's easy. I spend at least seven hours a day riding around with the guy. First of all, I know what your ringtone sounds like on his cell phone."

"So? That means he can ignore it when he's in the middle of something."

"And he does, sometimes. But when he doesn't, he talks quietly when he isn't discussing the details of a case."

"All right, what else?"

"Friday."

"Friday happens everywhere, for everyone."

"It's the only day of the week I get here earlier than him. It's like he came from somewhere else."

"That doesn't prove anything."

"He smells nice on Friday."

"So he finally showers at the end of the week?"

"No, I mean girl-nice. Like he used girl shampoo."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"It smells just like _your_ hair."

"Well I don't get my shampoo custom made, so you still don't have a case."

"He also seems to be in a better mood on Fridays."

"Isn't everyone?"

"Sure, but he isn't just end-of-the-week-happy. He's more like got-laid-happy."

"Maybe he did—by his girlfriend."

"Right. And what's her name again?"

"Lorelai."

"That's it. So she's named for a Styx song. I guess it's fitting for someone named after a Brad Pitt character. I bet he didn't even come up with a last name for Lorelai."

"Leigh," Tristan supplied. Rory turned around quickly. She hadn't noticed him walk over. "Are you two talking about me?" he asked, looking at them suspiciously.

"No. The world doesn't revolve around you, you know," she told him.

"For your information, I was named after a Celtic poem. It's romantic," he explained, before turning pensive. "It was either that or after Count Charles-Tristan de Montholon."

"Who's that?" Mark asked.

"The guy who may have, but probably didn't poison Napoleon with arsenic," he said slowly.

"You should stick with the poem," Rory said, Mark nodded his head in agreement.

Tristan nodded too. "Are you ready to go?" he asked Rory.

"Yup."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

"So, the Talbit case is getting you down?" Rory asked after they were seated in the diner near the precinct. They'd already placed their orders.

Tristan sighed. "Yeah, Jacobs fears the _CSI_ phenomenon."

"What's that?"

"It's where prosecutors worry that a jury won't believe in guilt beyond a reasonable doubt if there isn't any forensic evidence. It's because they watch too much television."

"Oh. Do you think someone else could do his job better?"

"Sure, a monkey," he said. "But what do I know?"

"A lot." He just shrugged. "Hey, what do you call a thousand lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?"

"A good start. That's _my_ joke," he said. "We looked through the evidence from Greene's other case."

"And?"

"And he couldn't have done it. They really mishandled the whole thing. Greene let them check out his car and his condo and they didn't find anything. He passed a lie detector test. There was a struggle when the guy was killed, but there was no sign that Greene was in a physical fight. And all of his colleagues said he wouldn't hurt a fly."

"I read that they paid for his bail when he was arrested."

"They did—students pitched in too. Plus, there was a glass on the kitchen table with a third person's DNA. The detectives didn't know who else could have done it," Tristan explained. "And since the victim and Greene had an argument beforehand, they arrested him. There was absolutely no physical evidence pointing to Green. He should have sued the department. It's one thing to void an arrest. It's another to make someone go through all that just because they couldn't find who _did_ do it. That prosecutor got lucky with the hung jury."

"Is he still a suspect for Aaron Wilson's murder?"

Tristan thought about the question for a moment. "He's still a person of interest. He has an alibi. But it isn't rock solid, especially considering where he was."

"Where was he?"

Tristan paused before answering. "Working in the lab—in the science building."

"He was in the building when Wilson was killed?" Rory quickly asked in a hushed tone.

"You didn't hear that from me."

"I never do," she said quietly, pondering the new information.

The waitress came and sat down their plates of food. Tristan reached across the table and took a French fry from Rory's plate.

"Hey, that's mine!"

"I know, but it looked nice and crispy."

"It looks just as crispy as the fries on _your_ plate," she said, taking one of his.

"Hey, I took a small one," he protested, reaching over to take another fry from her plate.

"Have you gotten any farther with your current investigation?" Rory asked.

"Which one? It's getting difficult to keep them all straight."

"I hear you there," she said. "It's too bad those kids got killed so close to their graduation. Their lives were just about to get started. It's supposed to be exciting."

"I guess graduating college was pretty bitter sweet for _you_, since you loved Yale so much," he commented.

"Yeah, the day definitely had a bitter element to it," Rory said thoughtfully. "But sometimes you have to close the door on something you love to be able to open a different door. Even if you never, ever, expected what was behind it."

"Like writing about crime in the big city?"

Rory looked him in the eye and nodded. "Yeah, like that."

"So, how do you like the prize behind door number two?"

"I actually kind of love it," she said, and then smiled slowly. "I don't always know _why._"

"It's because you get to see me so much."

"Or maybe because it's a challenge. A challenge can be fun."

"And never boring," Tristan added.

Rory nodded in agreement. "You know what my favorite thing about this place is?" she asked him after a few minutes.

"The coffee?"

"I like it, but that's not what I was thinking."

"Is it the pie you have your eye on?"

"It's the _free_ pie."

"I don't think it's free for everyone."

"I know. It's because of you."

"I'm glad you can acknowledge my charm."

"Let me clarify, it's your job."

"See, there're all kinds of advantages when you roll with me."

The bell above the door jingled and a moment later, Mark sat down in their booth next to Tristan. "Good, I thought this was where you'd be."

"How is Toto doing, Dorothy?" Rory asked.

"Don't make fun of my dog. A dog is a man's best friend."

"That's true, Burden versus Hornsby," Tristan said off-handedly, eating the last of his fries.

"What?" Mark asked.

"This guy back in the eighteen hundreds sued his neighbor for shooting his dog—Old Drum. In the lawyer's closing argument, he said that a dog is man's best friend. So, it's not just a saying."

Mark just stared at him.

"Did the judge rule in favor of the plaintiff?" Rory asked with a grin.

"Yes. There's a Midwestern town out there with a statue erected to Old Drum."

"Thank you . . . for that," Mark said.

"Any time."

The waitress came over then and put a plate with a piece of apple pie on the table between Tristan and Rory. She asked Mark if he wanted some, but he declined.

"That isn't their last slice," he observed.

"What about it?" Tristan asked after he took a bite of the dessert.

"So they just know how you two like to share some afternoon delight?"

"You only get three comments like that for the week."

"What happens after that?"

"I'll cordially invite you to the parking lot to discuss the matter further."

"Are you going to feed it to each other?" Mark couldn't help but asking, laughing a little.

"Oh good, laugh it up. That's two. Now, did you come here for a reason?"

"Yes. I just got a call from Dr. Bradford. He has a name of the guy with the green hat."

"Who's the guy with the green hat?" Rory asked quickly.

Tristan put a hand over his eyes and shook his head.

"You didn't tell her that part?"

"No."

"Who is it? Is it a suspect?" she persisted.

Tristan looked up at her and raised a brow. "What's it worth to you? We could probably work something out," he said suggestively.

"You should really just file a sexual harassment complaint against him. It's the only way he's going to learn his lesson," Mark suggested.

Tristan wiggled his eyebrows and gave her a lopsided grin. "Yeah, Mary, you should teach me a lesson."

"You guys can't distract me, who's the kid with the green hat?"

Tristan sighed, resignedly. "Aaron Wilson walked into the science building with another kid. He had a hat on, which made it hard to figure out who it was. He met up with Wilson in the library computer lab," he said, quickly summing things up with as few details as possible.

"That's not all," Mark said. "If the science teachers were right about who it is, he lives in the same dorm as Lance Sooner—I made a call to Housing."

"Are you going to tell us his name?" Rory asked pointedly.

Stevenson paused.

"You dug the grave yourself," Tristan told him.

"Fine, he's Brian Sloan. He's a sophomore at City College. I think we should ask Jacobs for a warrant to arrest him, if he doesn't have an alibi," he told his partner.

"Ooh, let's not. We haven't even talked to him yet and we don't have probable cause."

"He was in two security videos with Aaron Wilson and lives in the same dormitory as Lance Sooner."

"That isn't going to cut it."

"We could still ask, just to be sure."

"I _am_ sure. So don't ask."

"I think Jacobs would know better than you. What's the worse that could happen? He says no? I can get over that."

Tristan closed his eyes a moment before opening them and staring forward. "Just because the kid lives in the same dorm doesn't mean it was him in the videos. The lab is checking for prints on Sooner's grade book, so we don't know who was in his classes or what grades students were getting—if that's even the motive."

"Then we'll call the Registrar's office."

"Grades are confidential. We don't have enough proof to get a subpoena, either," Tristan said slowly, growing weary. "So don't ask Jacobs for one. He'll just look at me like I'm stupid next time I see him. And I am _far_ from stupid."

"You know, you're kind of an asshole when you talk to him. Maybe that's why you two don't get along."

"Well if I thought he was better at his job, maybe I'd be nicer."

"I know we all have the habit of pissing off lawyers, but you take it to a new level."

"He pisses _me_ off, I just like to keep things even," Tristan stated, getting annoyed with his partner. Rory pulled her cell phone out of her purse and dialed. The other two didn't pay her any attention as they continued to converse. "I don't know why you don't just take my word for it when I tell you not to talk to him. I know when it's a waste of time."

"What makes you so all-knowing?"

Tristan sighed impatiently.

"Boys, hush!" Rory interrupted as she waited for her co-worker to answer. "I'm making a call here." The detectives looked over at her. "Marie, I need you to take those rosters on my desk and fax them off," she explained, giving Marie the number of the precinct fax machine before thanking her and hanging up. She looked back up at the men across from her.

"What was that?" Mark asked.

"I faxed you a copy of Lance Sooner and Aaron Wilson's class rosters and grades—they had to submit midterm grades. You better get over to the precinct to intercept it."

"We won't be able to use it if you give it to us," Stevenson protested.

"Yes you can."

"It's illegal for you to act on our behalf."

"You didn't tell me to do anything. I did it on my own—and I already had the information sitting on my desk. So none of us broke the law," she countered before looking over at Tristan, who hadn't said anything about her actions thus far. "Right?" she asked him with a raised brow.

He nodded. "She's right, technically," he said, looking back to his partner. "We didn't ask her to do it."

"Fine," Mark retorted, shaking his head as he got up. "I'm going back over to the station."

"I'll be right behind you," Tristan answered.

"I've made a useful friend at City College," Rory explained after Stevenson was out the door.

It was quiet for a moment before Tristan spoke, looking down at his plate. "You didn't have to fight my battle for me."

Rory got up and stood at the end of the table as she took her wallet out of her purse and pulled out a couple dollar bills. "I like to help. And besides, it wasn't a battle you necessarily needed to fight either," she told him, looking down at the table. "He should just believe you."

Tristan shrugged indifferently. "He doesn't know any better."

"I know he doesn't. And you're too stubborn to do anything about it," she said before looking up at him. "I'm going to go back to the newsroom."

She started to walk away, but Tristan grabbed her arm and pulled her closer, kissing her gratefully. "Thank you," he said quietly. She just nodded solemnly before he let her go. He watched as she walked outside and caught a cab before he dropped a few bills on the table for the tip. He walked out and headed in the direction of the police station.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

When the detectives were both at their desks in the precinct a little while later, Tristan looked over the information Marie had faxed over.

"Brian Sloan was in Aaron Wilson's class, but wasn't in Lance Sooner's."

"What was his grade?" Mark asked.

"He had a D at midterm."

"I just looked him up in the system. He had a couple run-ins with the campus police last semester."

"That still doesn't mean he committed a heinous crime. Let's go see if we can track him down," Tristan said.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Around six o'clock that evening, Tristan walked through the art studio and nodded at Olivia. He went up the back stairs and knocked on Rory's door. A moment later it swung open and she looked at him, perplexed, but with a half smile.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"Thought I'd drop by. Seeing you during my work day makes me want to see more of your face," he said. "Can I come in? Or is there some sort of Tuesday night toll I don't know about?"

Rory looked down at the plastic grocery bag he had in his hand. "Maybe."

"I brought ice cream."

"What kind?"

"Chocolate."

"Is there candy in it?"

"Why would I get ice cream without candy in it?"

"Right answer, you can come in," she said, moving out of the way. He sat a big book and a thick file folder on a lamp table in the living room. "I should warn you though, I'm cleaning and doing laundry tonight."

"That's domestic of you. You're cooking too?" he asked, as he went to the refrigerator to deposit the ice cream.

"Yeah, spaghetti and meatballs." She continued her task of _Swiffer_ sweeping the kitchen floor.

"You're _very_ domestic tonight." He lifted the lid from the skillet with sizzling meatballs. "What's the green stuff in these?"

"Spinach."

"I didn't know you were a student of Jessica Seinfeld."

"I learned from Luke. He has to hide healthy food to get my little brother to eat it. And it works on my mom too."

"It sounds like she has a very refined taste," he said ironically.

"Yeah. Her eating habits are childlike."

"Were you planning on eating all this by yourself?" He raised a suspicious brow.

"I was going to share some with Lucy and Olivia," she answered as she tried to open a jar of spaghetti sauce. Tristan watched her struggle. "I can get it," she said defiantly.

"I didn't say you couldn't."

She continued in her effort for a minute longer and then handed it over. "Fine. You think you're so strong, you do it."

He took the jar and opened it easily, then handed it back. "You loosened it."

"I suppose I could share some with you, too. You earned it now."

"Do you have any spiders that need exterminating?"

"No, just one cliché this evening." She mixed the sauce with the noodles and meatballs and got out a couple plates from the cabinet. She also took down two glasses and went to the freezer.

"Don't skimp on the ice," he told her. She handed him his glass when it was full, it had more ice than water. He looked at her blankly. "Gosh, you're fun."

She smiled cheekily.

They sat down to eat and Tristan looked next to him at a bowl sitting at the end of the kitchen island. There were two goldfish swimming around. "Have you fed Slash and Axl?"

"No, go for it."

He sprinkled some fish food into the bowl. "I think you're going to need to replace Slash again, he's looking sickly."

"How can you tell which is which?"

"I just can. Look at the other one. That one is definitely Axl. He has an attitude."

"How can a fish have an attitude?"

"You can tell he cusses out Slash when you aren't around. And he probably hogs all the food too."

"You know, when my mom won those at the winter carnival, she named them Celine Dion and Justin Bieber."

"Why?"

"The same reason she named her dog Paul Anka."

"Is that supposed to clarify?"

"Paul Anka is a Canadian singer. So are Celine Dion and Justin Bieber."

"I still don't get it."

"You'd have to meet her. And even then, it still might not make sense."

"Well if she wanted to name the fish, she should have kept them."

"Luke wouldn't let her."

"Then why did she win them in the first place?"

"She had to. Everyone had to. Kirk tried to open a school . . . for fish. But something didn't work out—I didn't really understand the details. But it was decided at the town meeting that he should close the school. So he gave them away as prizes at the winter carnival."

"Is he like, the town idiot?"

"Well that's a mean way of putting it . . . but kind of."

When they were finished eating, Rory divided up the spaghetti into two containers and a bowl. "All right, those are for lunch tomorrow, this goes across the hall."

"I'll take it over," Tristan offered, picking up the bowl and heading for the door.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

When Tristan returned to Rory's apartment a half an hour later, her _iRobot_ vacuum was doing its job in the living room. He looked into the kitchen, but the room was empty. "Where'd you go?" he called out, moving down the hall. "Do I need to put out an Amber Alert?"

"No, I'm in here," she said from her room, she was standing next to the bed, folding her clothes. Tristan sat down on the other side. "That took you a while."

"I know. Lucy was watching a _Law & Order_ marathon on USA. She wanted me to explain how the Statute of Limitations works. Then the conversation segued and she successfully roped us into going to her play next month."

"Oh, I know. Did I not mention that?"

"No."

"She wanted to talk you into it herself. How'd she do?"

"Very well, even _I_ thought she made a compelling argument." He started folding Rory's underwear.

"What are you doing?"

"Helping."

"Those are inside out."

"I know. You shouldn't be in such a hurry to take them off."

"They got that way in the washing machine. If someone is in a hurry to get them off, it's you."

"That might be true. You know what would really help me out?"

"I don't think I _want_ to know."

"If you stopped wearing them."

"No deal."

"Come on, just think about it. It would save _me_ time and _you_ money—in the long run," he said matter-of-factly.

"Sorry, you're just going to have to work for it," she put her clothes in the drawers and then looked back at what was left on the bed. "That stuff isn't mine."

Tristan looked down at the remaining clothes. "No, it's mine. Why are you stealing my clothes? You have your own."

"I'm not stealing it. Here's a better question, are you sneaking your clothes into my laundry?"

"I have the right to remain silent."

"I'm not getting your suits dry cleaned."

"Deal."

"What? No. No bargain was made. Do your own laundry."

He took her hand and kissed it. She quickly pulled it away a second later and hit him on the arm. "Don't lick me!" He grinned back. "You really should have told me when you were at the door that you were planning on being annoying tonight."

"But then you wouldn't have let me in."

"Exactly," she said, pointing a finger at him.

"I believe in the justice system. You should punish me," he leered, before he got up. "Do you have some Post-its I could use?"

"Yeah, they're in the hall closet. Why? What are you doing?"

"Minding my own business," he answered as he left the room and opened the closet door. He found what he was looking for and took the brightly colored sticky notes to the living room, where he sat on the couch and put on his black framed glasses. He started reading and making a note on a Post-it before sticking it on a page of the book.

"What are you reading?" Rory asked when she came in to turn off the vacuum.

"A book," he answered vaguely without looking up.

"Another big one."

"Mm-hmm."

"That file folder has grown, too."

"Mm-hmm." He glanced up briefly. "You should take a picture. It'll last longer."

"Sorry. You just look smart, sitting there, concentrating so hard."

"No school accepted me for my looks."

"Well, now I am _very_ confused."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Rory stood up and looked over at Tristan, he wasn't using the Post-its anymore. He was just carefully rereading what he'd already marked.

"I'm going to bed. Don't stay up studying too late. I'll fall asleep or get really into a book," she said before turning to walk down the hall.

Tristan put the book down and tossed his glasses on top of it. He got up and rushed past Rory, knocking into her a little on his way to the bedroom.

"You left the lamp on," she told him.

"Oh sorry. Could you get that?" he asked from her room.

She muttered to herself and shook her head, but went back to turn off the light. When she got to the bedroom, he was already sitting on his side, under the covers. She got into bed next to him and looked over.

"Do you need me to get that one, too?" she asked, nodding at the lamp on the nightstand.

"Could you?" She sighed and climbed onto his lap. "Ah, now you're right where I want you," he said with a smile, putting his hands on her hips, right under her silk nightgown.

She clicked the light off and smiled in the darkness, still straddling him. "No, that's where you're wrong, Detective. You're right where _I_ want you."

He laughed lightly, but was cut off when her lips attacked his.


	3. American Man

**Title**: Libertad

**Chapter ****3**: American Man

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

_Speak when you are angry—__and you will make the best speech you'll ever regret.__ –__Laurence J. Peter _

**American Man**

On Wednesday morning, Rory was in front of her bathroom mirror, finishing her make up. She put the cosmetics back into the drawer and headed for the kitchen. She poured herself a cup of coffee before walking to the living room, joining Tristan. He was standing in front of the television, watching the morning news as he sipped his own coffee.

"Anything newsworthy happening today?" she asked.

"Not yet, but give it time."

"Oh hey, that building looks familiar," Rory commented.

"Yeah, I work there," Tristan said, frowning at the television. "Why is that annoying reporter already at the precinct? It's barely light out."

"She's probably hoping to catch you on your way in. You didn't answer any of her questions the other day." They watched as Wendy Lu explained how the police had not disclosed certain details about a current string of homicides at City College.

"It's only two, I wouldn't call it a string," Tristan said. "She's making it sound like we're covering stuff up."

"Some people have to make the story. Just reporting it can get boring."

"Do _you_ get bored?"

"No. I'm too busy figuring things out before you do."

He smiled at her. "I like to think I'm of _some_ use to you along the way."

"You come in handy now and then."

"You know," he said thoughtfully. "I don't think you should ever be on the local news."

"Why? Am I not pretty enough?"

Tristan looked over to her again. "You're _too_ pretty. But you aren't very punny."

"Oh, that's true," she agreed as they watched the weather report.

"Where will you be today?" he asked her.

"The usual."

"The _Daily News_ and City College?"

"Most likely."

"That sounds similar to _my_ day. Just don't stray too far. There may or may not be an announcement today."

"What kind of announcement?"

"The kind the Fourth Estate gets invited to."

"What is it going to be about?"

"Probably the 'string' of strangulations."

"What do you mean by may or may not?"

"It depends on some results."

"Results from what?"

"The lab."

"I asked what, not where. Can you be any more specific?"

"I cannot."

"_Can_not or _will _not?"

"What's the difference?"

"Will not leaves some wiggle room, like you could be persuaded."

"I like that one. Let's go with will not." She wrapped an arm around his neck and started to kiss him. He snaked his free arm around her midsection, forcing her closer to him. "You shouldn't do this," he warned. "In a minute you'll stop and say 'I have to get to a meeting.'"

"I don't sound like that," she protested. "But I do have a meeting this morning."

"Mm-hmm." He let her go.

"Does this means you're not going to tell me what lab results you're waiting on?"

"You already know what it is—fingerprints on the grade book from Lance Sooner's room." They both went to the kitchen to rinse off their cups and put them in the dishwasher.

"Is that all?" she asked as she poured herself more coffee into a travel mug.

"No."

"Are you going to tell me what?"

"All in good time, my pretty, all in good time."

"I'll hold you to that. Here," she said, handing him his half of the spaghetti leftovers from the night before.

Rory grabbed her purse and Tristan gathered his book and file folder from the living room. He opened the door for her and they both walked out of the apartment to embark on their day.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Tristan arrived at the police station a little while later and successfully dodged the Channel 13 reporter on his way in. He walked into the elevator, which was already occupied by the prosecutor. Tristan gave a curt nod and waited for the doors to close before he spoke.

"Here, look this over," he said, handing the lawyer the thick file folder he had been compiling, as well as the heavy book with Post-its sticking out. "It should be enough legal precedents for the Talbit case."

"Oh. All right," Jacobs replied, scanning some of the pages in the folder.

"The copied stuff is yours for the keeping. But I'm going to need my book back," Tristan said. "I checked the laws and motions calendar. There's a judge accepting motions for murder hearings tomorrow morning. Are you going to go, or do _I_ need to?"

"I'll do it."

"I'll go with you."

"Is that really necessary?"

"I wish it wasn't."

"You're an asshole. You know that, right?"

Tristan grinned. "It's been brought to my attention, yes."

"As long as you're aware."

"Actually, that reminds me. I've wanted to ask you a legal question for a while now."

Jacobs scoffed. "Yeah, right."

"No really. How many times did it take you to pass the bar? It only took m—" The elevator dinged as it stopped at the third floor. "Saved by the bell. And here I was going to share," Tristan said with a smirk as he started to walk out. He turned back to add, "Don't worry about my discovery fee. I didn't clock the billable hours I spent doing research."

Jacobs rolled his eyes as Tristan sauntered out to the detective's floor.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

An hour later, the detectives were at City College, walking down the sidewalk. The sun was out, but there were clouds off in the distance. They were with a girl who was on her way to class.

"Do you know Aaron Wilson?" Mark asked.

"No. Well, I've heard his name. He's one of the guys who were killed, right?"

"Right."

"You don't think _I_ did it, do you?" she asked, sounding concerned.

"We're just trying to figure out what happened before he was killed."

"Oh, okay."

"You were at the library last Thursday afternoon, correct?" Tristan asked.

"Yeah, I was in the computer lab, working on an assignment. I had to get out of my dorm room, my roommate is crazy."

"Can you tell us anything about the student who came and sat beside you? To your right?"

"It was a guy—was it Aaron?"

"Yes."

"Well he came in after me and was looking at notes and typing the whole time."

"Did he talk to anyone while he was there?"

"Yeah, it was before he left. Some other kid came and sat next to him. He did some homework first."

"Did you see what he looked like?"

"I wasn't paying too much attention. But he had on jeans and a t-shirt. And a hat, it was blue or green, I can't remember. Oh, and he had light brown hair. They talked for a little while before they left."

"So they knew each other?"

"Yeah, they seemed to be acquaintances at least."

"What did they talk about?"

"The guy who came over second, he asked Aaron if he was going to take that job."

"Did he say where?"

The girl shrugged. "I don't remember, but it was something to do with books."

"What did they say about it?" Mark asked.

"The kid in the hat asked Aaron if he was going to take the job. Aaron said he wasn't sure, he wanted to talk with some teachers who worked with the company."

"Did he mention any teachers in particular?"

"Yeah, Dr. Greene. So then the other kid said how they could go to the science building and look around."

"They left after that?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Aaron wanted to work a little more, but the other kid pointed out that they could sneak in while the building was still unlocked if they went over right then."

"If you saw the kid with the hat again, would you recognize him?" Stevenson asked.

"I think I might be able to," the girl said, then nodded at the building in front of them. "This is my stop, do you need anything else?"

"We'll let you know if we do," Tristan replied. "Thanks for your help."

The girl was about to walk to the building when she stopped and turned back to Tristan. "Have I seen you before?" she asked.

"I don't think so," he answered.

"That's weird, you look a little familiar. Oh well." She continued on her way.

Mark looked to his partner with furrowed brows. "Where would she have seen you before?"

Tristan shrugged and shook his head. "Don't know. Unless she saw us here working, we've been on campus a lot lately."

"She didn't say us, she said you."

Tristan just shrugged again. "Let's go over to the science building, Greene will probably let us search his office again. Maybe we can figure out what it was those guys were looking for last week."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Later that morning, Rory walked to her desk after the weekly staff meeting. Marie was right behind her and took her seat as well.

She sighed tiredly. "That went on a little long, don't you think?" Marie asked.

"Yeah, Features got a little hung up on pitching ideas. Just be glad you don't have to meet with the higher ups on Friday."

"Oh, I am. See, there're advantages to not being so efficient and dependable."

"I guess so," Rory said as she flipped through the latest edition of _The Campus_. She had picked up a copy the last time she was at the college. She looked at the pictures and read the headlines, making mental notes of the articles she wanted to go back to read. When she got to one of the last pages, she stopped and stared at one of the pictures. She frowned and looked for an article that went with the photo. "Who does this look like to you?" she asked, rolling her chair over to Marie's desk, lying the paper down.

"It kind of looks like the guy who was killed last week—the first guy who was strangled."

"That's what I thought."

"Why is his picture in the student newspaper?"

Rory flipped back through the paper until she found what she was looking for on the inside of the first page. "That might be why," she said, pointing to something in the box where the newspaper staff was listed. She picked up her phone and dialed a memorized number, but she didn't get an answer. She tried a different number instead.

"DuGrey."

"Where are you? I need to show you something."

"Okay. Your place or mine? If you can wait until lunch, I won't need to come up with an excuse," Tristan said. "You know what? Now sounds good, I can make something up."

"Are you finished?"

"I thought we could do that together." There was silence for a moment. "Okay, I'm done. Stop reassessing why you're with me."

"Was I thinking that loud?"

"Yes."

"Are you up at City College?"

"Yes ma'am."

"I just found something that might help you with your investigation."

"Which one?"

"The first one, maybe the second one, too. I'm not sure."

"Can you get away?"

"Always."

"See you soon then."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Tristan and Mark were sitting outside a sandwich shop a block away from campus at midday. Tristan took a drink of his iced tea and looked up to see Rory approach their table. She sat down next to him and snuck one of the chips from his plate.

"That's a lot for one person to eat," she said, eying the second half of his sandwich. He slid the plate over to her. "If you insist. Although, I was really looking forward to spaghetti for lunch."

"Huh, I think _he_ was, too," Mark said with a grin. "You know DuGrey, I noticed you're looking a little scruffy today."

"So? It happens."

"I know, usually on Friday."

"Does this observation have a point?"

"Sure, Rory knows what it is," Mark said, smiling at Rory.

Tristan looked at her.

"It's a conspiracy theory he's working on."

"Moving on," Tristan said. "What did you find?"

Rory opened the paper to the picture she came across earlier. "Look, I found how Vernon Anderson is connected to City College."

The two men frowned down at the photo, just as she had. "Why is his picture in here?"

"That's what I asked myself, but I remembered how Anderson works for a publishing company. And then I wondered where _The Campus_ gets published. See, some schools have their own press."

"Like Harvard and Yale?" Mark asked, a bit mockingly.

"Your school has one too," Rory told him. "The Yale University Press publishes the_ Daily News_, the _Law Journal_, and graduate theses and dissertations. But universities usually don't make a profit and lose money—well, Yale is one of the few exceptions."

"That well run, huh?" Mark asked.

Tristan snorted. "No. Endowments—alumni with deep pockets give money."

"That's true," Rory said. "My grandparents gave money to the school after my dad paid for the rest of my tuition. They gave it in my name, since it was set aside for Yale anyway."

"So they donated it to the university press, since you wrote for the paper?" Mark asked.

"Uh, no. That would have made sense and I would have preferred it. But they insisted on it going to something a little more . . . prominent, on campus."

Tristan snorted again and covered his mouth with his hand as he laughed a little. Stevenson furrowed his brows at the blonde.

"Sorry, I just remembered something funny," Tristan explained.

Rory narrowed her eyes at him and he grinned back. His eyes were laughing.

"Anyway," she went on, "since the university presses are directed towards education, some publish textbooks. And Aaron Wilson—"

"Interviewed at a textbook company," Tristan finished.

"Right, and Vernon Anderson works at a publishing company," she said, flipping back through the paper. "This publishing company." She pointed to the page. Sterling Publishing was listed as the newspaper's publisher.

"Is there an article that goes with that picture?" Mark asked.

"Yes. And it's not good news for the professor. He was at the event, too."

"He was? When was it?" Tristan asked quickly.

"The same night Anderson was killed. It was the work event he was at," Rory said, flipping to the page that had the article—it was just a brief synopsis. The two men scanned it a couple times. "Wasn't there a guest list for that party?"

"Yes and no. The company sent out an e-mail invitation to a lot of people. It was some annual thing they have—kind of informal—so they know how much food to prepare without RSVPs," Tristan said. "That's why we aren't getting too far on that case. There're so many people to talk to, many of which, weren't even there. Plus, the new murders are kind of distracting us this week."

"So," Mark started, thinking it all over, "Vernon Anderson works at Sterling Publishing. They _might_ put out textbooks."

"Yes. And Aaron Wilson was offered a job _at_ a textbook company," Rory added. "Plus, he'd been asking his girlfriend about her science books. Dr. Greene is a co-author of the book he uses for his class."

"That could explain why Aaron was asking about Greene, and why he was in his office," Tristan finished.

"Do you even know the name of the company?" Mark asked. "He had several interviews marked on his calendar. His girlfriend wasn't sure which one offered a job."

"I was going to look that information up in her books, but I was interrupted," Rory said pointedly. "I think I can figure it out pretty easily though."

"Well we can too. But we can't go into some place of business to snoop around just because someone may have overheard something after an interview. So what are we supposed to do with the information about the textbook company?"

"Yeah Doll Face, what are supposed to do with that?"

"Hey, I'm just showing you a possible connection. You're the detectives with the ways and means to look into things closer."

"Yeah, and you still manage to find a fair share of information on your own," Tristan said.

"Sometimes it helps to not be bound by due process."

"How nice for you," Stevenson said.

"So, before you brought all this to light," Tristan started, "Wilson and Sooner were connected because they were both graduate assistants here. Now Wilson is possibly connected to Anderson. Who could they possibly _all_ have in common?"

"We're going to have to ponder that another time," Mark said, checking his watch. "We need to get over to the science building. The infamous green hat kid should be heading for the lounge soon."

"Oh, right. Maybe we'll get some answers to all these questions," Tristan said, as the three of them stood.

Stevenson took all their trash and went inside the eatery to throw it away. Tristan slid his hand under Rory's palm and she instinctively grabbed a few of his fingers. He led her down the sidewalk a short distance and then faced her. She dropped his hand.

"You can keep this," she said, handing him the paper. "I'll pick up another copy from _The Campus_ newsroom. That's where I'm headed next."

"Thanks."

"Did I make things more confusing?"

"As usual. But they were already messy."

Mark walked over then, and they all headed for the college campus. Rory parted their company when the detectives stopped in front of the science building. After a few minutes, Tristan nodded to a student who was approaching their general direction. Both men reached for their badges and showed them to the young man.

"Brian Sloan?" Stevenson asked.

"Yeah, what's it to you?"

"We need to have a word with you," Mark explained as they all went inside the building.

"I have a class."

"It's all right, your teacher will understand," Tristan said, opening a door to an empty classroom. "We've been looking for you. You didn't go to class yesterday morning and you weren't in your dorm room."

"That's because I skipped class and I wasn't in my room yesterday morning. I was in someone else's. We were . . . studying the night before and got really into it," Brian said with a self-confident expression.

"I wasn't born yesterday, dumbass," Tristan said.

"Fine, so we weren't studying. You found me, what do you want?"

"We're going to need you to tell us what you were doing in this building last Thursday night," Mark said.

"I wasn't here. Why would I be here at night? And on a Thursday, of all nights. Have you guys _been_ to college?"

"Harvard actually," Tristan said.

"Then I shouldn't have to tell you that Thursday nights are the nights that people go out to party."

"Sure. But we'll come back to that. Did you know Aaron Wilson?"

"No. I mean, I don't _know_ him. He's one of the guys that got killed, right?"

"Yes. You're in a class that he teaches. How can you not know him?"

"What class does he teach?"

"He's a TA for a college Algebra class."

"Oh, well, there're a lot of people in that class and he's just a TA. It's not like he's the professor. And it's just a general education class anyway. It's not like it's a class I'm too concerned about."

"That explains your grade. Were you upset about it? Did you want to get him by himself?"

"No. What are you talking about?"

"The last one to see Wilson came with him to this building Thursday night and left alone."

"So?"

"So, two people came in. One came out alive and the other was left behind—dead."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"We have a video that shows you coming in here just before five o'clock with Aaron Wilson," Mark said.

"You might have a video, but _I'm_ not in it."

"Let's take a look," Tristan said, pressing play on a remote. The video played from a projector and appeared on the dry erase board.

"That isn't me," Brian said again.

"It looks like you were wearing the same hat that night that you have on now," Mark countered.

"Can you account for your whereabouts that night?" Tristan asked.

"Sure, I was at a bar. A few bars, actually."

"You were drinking already at six-thirty?" Stevenson asked.

"Well, no. It wasn't until later."

"So, what were you doing from four o'clock to six-thirty?"

"I was in my dorm room until five."

"Was anyone with you?"

"My roommate. Then we both went over to the dinning hall at five. We were there for about an hour and then went back to the dorm. There were a lot of people sitting with us in the dinning hall. They can all say I was there."

"Did you know Lance Sooner?"

Brian shrugged. "The other guy that died?"

"Yeah, he lived in the same building as you. Did you know?"

"I don't live on his floor. I heard about it after I got back from class yesterday. But that's where I was when it happened—class. You can check with my instructor."

"We will. We're also going to need your fingerprints."

"Fine, you can get them now."

"You're going to have to go down to the precinct for that. We'll send you there."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

"So Alex," Rory said, sitting next to the editor of _The Campus_ at his desk, "what can you tell me about Sterling Publishing?"

"They publish our paper. We don't have our own press."

"That's what I thought. Do you know what else they publish?"

"I think textbooks, mostly."

"Why do they publish the paper then?"

"One of the big wigs there is a supporter of the college."

"Do you know his name?"

"Uh, something Anderson."

"Vernon Anderson?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Rory flipped through her new copy of the school paper. "Did you know he was pictured in here?"

"Oh yeah, some of us from the paper were invited to a banquet the publishing company hosted. I've gone to it before, but couldn't go this time. So I sent one of my reporters and a photographer."

"It's a candid picture, is that why the names aren't listed?"

"Yeah, it was just a shot of the party, nothing official."

"That's why this picture didn't pop up when I searched for Anderson after he died last week."

"He died?"

"Yeah, he was strangled last week. You may not have heard about it, he doesn't live in this part of Manhattan. You don't know who else was at the banquet?"

"No, but I'll ask the reporter who went. Should I ask about anyone in particular?"

"Yes, Dr. Norman Greene, he was quoted in the article," Rory said as her phone buzzed. She took it out and answered. "Hello?"

"Wrap up whatever you're doing. It's time to go," Tristan said.

"Time to go where?"

"Down to the precinct."

"I don't work at the precinct."

"I know, but remember what I told you this morning?

"I shouldn't be on the news?"

"The other thing."

"An announcement?"

"Mm-hmm. My boss says I have to be there and I'm wiling to bet _your_ boss is going to make you go, too. Just give it a minute."

"Okay, where are you? I'll meet you."

"What for?"

"For a ride to the precinct. I assume you're going to give me one."

"Why would you assume that?"

"Because we're going to the same place and I'm on the list of people you give rides to."

"Fine. I parked by that sandwich shop we were at earlier. We're leaving in five minutes."

"It's going to take me ten to get there," she protested.

"Then I guess you'll have to run," he said before disconnecting.

Rory turned her attention back to Alex. "You've been really helpful today, thanks so much. But I have to get going."

"Okay, let me know if you need anything else."

Rory left the building and hurried down the sidewalk. Her phone buzzed again and she pulled it out, glancing at the caller ID. "I know and I'm on it," she told James.

"You're on what?"

"Captain Meyer will be making a statement at the twenty-first precinct about the recent murders at City College. And I'm on my way."

"How did you—? Never mind. I'll see you when you get back."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

An hour later, clouds loomed over Manhattan. Rory was among a group of reporters standing on the steps in front of the precinct. The captain was standing before them, quite a few microphones were positioned in front of him. Several police officers, including Detectives DuGrey and Stevenson, stood off to the captain's right. Rory watched as a couple of the uniformed officers said something to Tristan, he looked bewildered at first, but then something seemed to dawn on him. He just shrugged at the officers and shook his head. Rory turned her attention to Captain Meyer, who was starting the press conference.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, as you all are aware, two students were killed at City College recently," he began. "The safety of the students at the school is a priority, which is why we feel it is necessary to tell the public that we think it was the same person who committed these crimes. We don't want to frighten anyone who attends the school, but we want them to be on their guard. If anyone knows anything about the murders, we want to encourage them to call the TIPS hotline."

"How do you know it's the same person?" one of the reporters asked.

"Both victims were strangled with a belt," the captain answered. "And there is forensic evidence supporting the theory."

"Do you have any suspects?"

"At this time, investigators are questioning persons of interest. No one has been taken into custody though."

The captain took a few more questions before walking away, back inside the building. After most of the crowd had died down and many of the police personnel had disappeared into the building, Rory walked over to Tristan and Mark.

"Do the fingerprints belong to someone?" she asked.

"Sure, but not to anyone we know. They did match another set of prints though," Tristan answered.

"From what?" she asked quickly.

"Something else."

"But it _is_ the same person?"

"Possibly," he said. "It's more probable now. You heard what he said."

"Yeah well, his version was slim on the details. Your version is usually better."

"Want to come upstairs before you go? Maybe I'll remember more from up there," he said as drops of rain started to fall from the sky.

"Sure." She and the two detectives walked up the steps and entered the building.

Tristan and Rory walked into the elevator, but Mark didn't join them. "Looks full, I'll just take the stairs," he said with a grin.

After the doors closed, Tristan put an arm around Rory's shoulders. "So I was thinking."

"That sounds dangerous."

"Tell me about it. Anyway, I was thinking about what we should do this weekend."

"My mom wants me to go home again. I'm supposed to be considering it."

"No can do. The weekend is my time and you were just there. Now, I was thinking that we should go to the New York Hall of Science."

"This investigation putting science on the brain?"

"Oh, no. I just thought it would be fun to look at some fake stars."

"Ooh, that does sound fun," she said as the doors opened on the third floor.

Tristan dropped his arm as they walked into the detective's squad and over to his desk. "Yeah, and today I thought, a girl like you—you're probably into astronomy."

"Not any more than the average person."

"Really? That's the strangest thing," he said with a smirk as he sat down in his swivel chair.

Rory sat in the chair at the end of his desk. "You know, Harvard, you're not as clever as you think you are."

"I'm a little clever."

"Anyway, tell me about those prints."

"They didn't match anyone in the system. However, there were prints on Greene's office door knob and on his file cabinet. They matched one of the prints on Sooner's grade book."

"Okay, so those two murders are forensically linked and Vernon Anderson—"

"Is vaguely connected to the school where the murders took place. We still don't have much on that one. Other than a foot print in the mud—which might not mean anything at all."

Rory thought about that for a moment, but then was distracted by a group of detectives not too far away. Mark was in the center, holding a newspaper. The men laughed and snickered in Tristan's direction.

"What's that about?" Rory asked him.

He shook his head. "It's nothing."

Just then, Mark walked over. "Hey, Number Nine, I think I figured out why that college girl said you looked familiar this morning." He waved the open paper at them.

Rory glanced at Tristan, who was occupying himself with something on his desk. "Let me see that," she said, reaching to take the newspaper from Mark. It was the _New York Post_. The front page advertised their annual list of New York City's most eligible bachelors. She flipped back to the page Mark had been looking at. There was a picture of Tristan on the page.

"So, DuGrey," Stevenson started, "does your girlfriend know that you're a suitable catch?"

"Not until recently." Tristan eyed Rory as his partner walked away.

She hadn't looked up from the page, which had a short profile about Tristan. She was frowning in concentration, her brows grew closer and closer as she read. She reread one particular sentence several times, in disbelief, to make sure she was actually seeing it in print. She scanned the whole paragraph one more time and then looked at the accompanying photo. It was a decent picture, even though the subject was glaring a little.

"Is everything okay?" Tristan asked after a minute.

"Fine," she answered tonelessly, still looking down at the paper. "Did you pose for this?" she asked, glancing up briefly.

"If you call looking at a camera posing, then I guess so," he answered indifferently.

"And someone from the _Post_ talked to you?"

"Well yeah. Someone had to, I had a choice."

"What choice?"

"To be considered for the list."

"And you said yes?"

"You're looking at a picture of me—so what does that tell you?"

"When?"

"What?"

"When were you asked to be eligible? When did someone take your picture?"

"A couple months ago."

"You never mentioned it."

He shrugged. "Didn't think it was important. I wasn't sure if I'd even make the top twelve, I was just in the running."

"Well I guess it's your lucky day."

"I thought if they put me in, everyone would just get a laugh. For the most part, I was right."

"I want to make sure I understand. You had to sit down with a reporter to answer questions about yourself?"

"Yes."

"So you told some random reporter—and all of New York City—_that_," Rory said, dropping the paper in front of Tristan and pointing to the sentence she had a problem with.

He read it and scowled. "No. Damn it, that doesn't even read right."

"What doesn't?"

"The part you pointed to. The college stuff is blurred together."

"It says you went to Harvard. _You_ went to Harvard."

"I know. But they kind of made it sound like I went to Harvard Law School."

"So the law school part must be wrong," she said derisively.

He furrowed his brows. "It is when you put Harvard in front of it—obviously."

"Obviously, huh?"

"Well, yeah. Do reporters write whatever they want without regard to the people they're writing about?"

"Maybe you don't have the same agreement with that reporter as you have with me. Congratulations on your eligibility, DuGrey," Rory retorted before standing up and walking away.

Tristan sighed unhappily as he watched her walk out of the precinct. He rolled his eyes and stood up to follow, tossing the paper in the trash on his way out. He made it to the hallway in time to see the elevator close, so he took a left to the stairwell and quickly made his way to the ground floor. He was at the bottom of the stairs in time to see the elevator doors open. When Roy walked out he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into the stairwell.

"Excuse me, but you don't have to _manhandle_ me," she said angrily. "Today isn't really the kind of day where I want to meet up with you on my way out."

"Is there a problem?" he asked with forced patience.

"Right now, _you_ are. Big surprise there," she answered sarcastically.

"You looked upset when you left."

"What would I have to be upset about?" she asked, in a tone that didn't sound entirely _not_ upset.

"Oh I don't know, maybe that stupid list? Since you stalked off after reading it. I really didn't think anything of it. Everyone will forget about it in a day or two, it's not a big deal."

"Hey, I get it. You're a young, single guy. You don't owe _me_ any explanations. So, it's not a big deal that you went to law school and never told me. I mean, what do _I_ care?"

"What?"

"Yeah. If you want to be the international man of mystery, that's _your_ business. You don't have to tell _me_ anything."

"Law school?" Tristan asked, with his brows furrowed in confusion. "You're mad that I went to law school?"

"I don't care that you went to law school. I'm pretty miffed that you never _told_ me you went."

He looked at her like she was crazy. "Are you kidding me?"

"Does it _look_ like I'm kidding?"

"Since when does a person have to tell _you_ something for you to know about it?"

"You know what? It doesn't matter."

She made like she was going to leave, but he held on to her arm so she couldn't get away. "I know it doesn't matter. If I don't want to tell people I went to law school, that's my choice. If someone takes the time to find out, then bully for them. Now, I _didn't_ tell that reporter from the _Post_ about it," he said firmly. "I said I only wanted Harvard mentioned. She found a stupid loophole and snuck it in there."

"You'd know all about loopholes, wouldn't you? And it's like I said upstairs, maybe if you had the same arrangement with that reporter that _we_ have, you could have specified what details you wanted to remain off the record."

"What?" His one word response had a warning lilt to it. He appeared calm, but he let her go so he could cross his arms instead.

Rory saw his eyes harden. It was a look that told her it would be foolish to continue with what she was saying. But, she—foolishly—went on, anyway. "Yeah, you know. The arrangement where you give me information about the cases you're working on and in return, I keep the other side of your bed warm."

He coldly stared at her for a moment before replying. "You were leaving." He nodded towards the door he had pulled her through and started to go back upstairs.

"You don't have anything else to say for yourself?" Rory asked before he got very far.

He turned back. "Nope. I don't have the inclination to defend myself to you right now. You've obviously lost your mind," he said evenly. "When you find it, let me know. Don't bother coming back here before then." He turned and walked up the stairs, leaving an irate Rory behind.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

A little while later, Rory arrived back at the newsroom. It was already late in the afternoon. She'd been out for a good portion of the day—and she was wet. The forecast hadn't shown showers for the day, so she didn't have her umbrella. She sat down at her desk and took out her notes.

Wordlessly, she moved her mouse to bring her computer out of hibernation. She went to work, typing up her report about the press conference. Someone had left the written statement on her desk, so she checked to make sure it was in sync with what she had heard earlier.

From the desk next to her, Marie looked over. "Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," Rory said curtly. She was concentrating so hard on what she was doing—and on being mad—that she was starting to get a headache behind her eyes.

"You're typing pretty aggressively there," Marie observed.

"I'm typing like I want to get this done. Is it almost five? I'm ready to go home," Rory said tonelessly.

"You have another hour and a half."

"Then I'll find something to do until then." She hadn't taken her eyes from her computer screen since she sat down. She typed for twenty minutes before speaking again. "Where's James? I need to show him this before I send it off."

"He's in his office, the door's open."

"Great," Rory said shortly, taking the freshly printed report to her editor's office.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

The next morning, Rory was in the newsroom again, trying to find out as much as she could about Vernon Anderson. Her cell phone buzzed from inside her top drawer and she pulled it out.

"Hello?"

"Rory, hey, how are you?" Paris asked.

"Fine."

"Do you know how I can reach Tristan? He left me a message the other day and I haven't been able to get a hold of him this morning."

"Did you try him at work?"

"Yes."

"And you tried his cell?"

"Yes."

"And he didn't answer either one?"

"No—obviously."

"Then I really can't help you."

"Could you take a message?"

"Why?"

"I just thought you'd maybe see him."

"Oh really? Why?"

"Well, because you—"

"What? Because we sleep together? That doesn't mean we tell each other things," Rory retorted.

"Okay," Paris said slowly. "I'd ask what's wrong, but I'm on call."

"Nothing's wrong, I'm just not his personal message service," Rory said shortly. "Did you need anything else?"

"No, sorry to bother you," Paris said.

Rory disconnected the call and put it back in her drawer—a bit roughly. She tapped her fingers on the desk impatiently. She wanted to get out and do something. Being stuck at her desk wasn't doing anything to improve her mood. She took out her notes from earlier that week and found the page where Julie Garcia's textbooks were listed. She Googled each one, making note of the publishers. When she got to the one Dr. Greene had co-authored, she started to do more digging. She found the company where the book was written and wrote down a phone number and address.

She really wanted to know what Aaron Wilson had seen when he was finished with his interview. Then she remembered what she'd said the day before, about not being bound by due process. If she was going to find something, she'd just have to be sneaky about it. She picked her phone up and dialed.

"McHill Books, how may I help you?" a woman answered on the other end.

"I'm a reporter for the New York_ Daily News_, and I'm writing an article about the costs of college. I'd like to include information on textbooks."

"Oh, I see. Let me transfer you to the public relations department."

"Great, thank you," Rory said. When the call went through, she set up an interview for one in the afternoon. After that, she placed another call.

"Hello?"

"Alex, Veronica More here, feel like going on a secret mission with me today?"

"Sure."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

A couple hours later, Rory and Alex were outside the building of McHill Books. Rory had concocted a plan for them to get into the building to snoop around. She was currently going over said plan with Alex one last time.

"All right, so when I go to the reception desk, I'll say that I'm here to interview for a job and that I need to know what floor to go to. I'll go to that floor, check out what other offices are in the area and I'll text you the information. What will you do then?"

"I'll go in, pretending to be a delivery person. Are you sure no one will notice me?" He was wearing khakis and a polo shirt with a name tag with 'Tim' written on it. He had a bouquet of flowers—his 'delivery' item.

"I'm very sure. Messengers come into the newsroom all the time. They come and go basically unnoticed. Trust me. You really only need a uniform or name tag—or badge—and you can get anywhere without any questions asked. I've seen it done. Just be confident."

"Okay. So, after you tell me where to look around, that's where I'll go."

"And remember, if you look around someone's office or cubicle, anything on the desk or in the trash is fair game. But don't open drawers."

"Got it. What do I do if someone asks who I'm looking for?"

"Just say something vague, like Ms. Smith or Miss Jones or Jane. Use a common name, someone here has to have it. If someone sends you in a different direction, just leave and I'll meet you back out here."

"All right. And whoever leaves first texts the other?"

"Yes."

Alex gave a exhaled determinedly. "I feel like we should be in a Trojan horse. Or drink some Polyjuice Potion, at least."

"We'll be fine. The worse that can happen is they ask us to leave before we find anything."

"Yeah, either that or call the police."

Rory thought about that one for a moment. "Let's not get caught. Are you ready?"

"Sure."

Rory walked through the front door of the building and went over to the reception area. She flashed a friendly smile to the woman behind the desk. "Hi, I'm here for an interview."

"Oh, okay. The human resources department is on the fifth floor. You'll go down the hall and take a left."

"All right, thank you."

Rory went over to the elevator and read the list of departments. She made note of the public relations office before stepping into the elevator. She took it to the indicated floor and walked down the hall slowly, subtly peeking into the offices she passed. The only other department on the fifth floor was accounting. She texted Alex, as she said she would, and turned around at the human resources department.

She went back to the elevator and rode it to the floor where the public relations department was. When the doors opened, she walked down the hall and found the office she was looking for. She told the administrative assistant that she was there for an interview and took a seat. When the PR director was ready for her, she went into the woman's office and took a seat in front of the desk.

"Thank you so much for meeting with me today," Rory started. "Like I said, I write for the _Daily News_, and I'm writing an article about the rising costs of the college experience. As a part of the article, I'm including the costs of textbooks. I understand your company provides many academic publications to colleges."

"Yes, that's true," the woman said, as they dove into the 'interview'.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Thirty minutes later, Rory was in the elevator again, and it was on the descent. Alex had texted her a little over ten minutes earlier, telling her he was heading out of the building. Rory wrapped up the interview soon thereafter. She exited the building and found Alex where they'd been earlier.

"Did you find anything?" she asked him straight off.

"Well, there were a few cubicles in the accounting office. And since you said Aaron saw or heard something on his way out, I figured it had to be at one of the cubicles close to the door. They must take turns going to lunch. One lady was just getting back and the person who sits on the other side of her cubicle was out."

"Was anyone on to you?"

"No. You were right. No one gave me a second glance. I dallied at the unoccupied desk as long as I could."

"Did you find anything?"

"A little. The computer was logged off, but the username was still typed in. The desk belonged to a J. Warner. There were some shredded documents in the trash. I rifled through it and found this." He handed Rory a bank card. The bank's name and a 1-800 number was professionally printed on the front of the card. On the other side, account and pin numbers were handwritten.

"Good work. Did you find anything else?"

"Not really. I didn't want to go through the accounting books on the shelf. And nothing on the desk stood out as suspicious."

"What happened to the flowers? Did you give them to someone?"

"Oh, yeah. When the lady on the other side saw me, she asked who I was looking for. So I said Jane. Her name was Janet—go figure. So I said someone must have written it wrong and gave them to her."

"Did she ask who they were from?"

"No. When I said they were for her, she suddenly looked a lot happier. She started going on and on about her boyfriend and how she was upset about something that he did—or said—I was only half listening. I was using the time she spent talking to look on her desk."

"Find anything?"

"No. But it was weird, it kind of felt good to make someone's day a little brighter."

"Oh. Yeah." Rory knew someone who definitely _wouldn't_ be receiving flowers from a certain man any time soon.

"Of course, some schmuk is getting off the hook for something he did."

"Right," she said a little flatly.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

When Rory was at the newsroom again, she looked at the information on the bank card and called the 1-800 number. An automated voice came over the line, asking for the caller to enter an account number. Rory punched in the number, and then the pin, as well. When an option was given, she pressed one to hear transactions made in the last two weeks. She made a list of all the transactions, as well as the final amount in the account.

She ended the call and looked at the monetary amounts. Each day, there was about five thousand dollars deposited into the checking account. At least, there was until the Thursday of the previous week. Instead of a deposit, that day had a significant amount of money withdrawn. It was two hundred thousand dollars, and it was moved the day after Vernon Anderson was killed.

"How much do accountants make?" Rory asked out loud.

"What?" Marie asked from her desk.

"How much money do you think accountants make in a year?"

"I'm not sure. I'd have to look into it."

"That's okay, I can do it."

"It'll depend on what kind of accountant—a CPA or a PA. Plus someone who works for a company will make more than someone who does taxes for regular Joe's like us."

"That's true. This isn't a public accountant, but look at these numbers. Who would move that kind of money on a daily basis?"

Marie looked at the list of numbers. "Perhaps someone with a side business."

"Yeah—maybe a drug dealing business."

"That's kind of what I was thinking."

Next, Rory searched for people in Manhattan who might be named J. Warner, using the paper's database. The list was too long to be helpful. As she tried to narrow her search using the bank and employment information, her editor approached her desk.

"Have you talked to the police today?" he asked Rory.

"Nope. Why?"

"Gee, I don't know. How about to see if they have any suspects in custody for the strangulations. They probably got some tips after yesterday's press release."

"Well I wouldn't have any idea."

"I suggest you get one."

"And how would I do that?"

"By calling your source."

"Pass."

"Excuse me?"

Rory looked up at him for the first time since he'd walked over. "I said 'pass'."

"Is there a reason for the sudden insubordination?"

She shrugged. "I'll do anything you want."

"I want you to call your source."

"I'll do anything except that. I do not feel like speaking to my source," she said firmly.

"Well, frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."

"It's not like he's going to tell me anything today. He likes to keep big secrets."

"Not again," James said dismally. "You got in good with the NYPD. Don't tell me they have someone who's gone over to the Dark side."

"All right, I won't."

"Listen, find out what's happening with this case, and when it's all over, I'll let you write another exposé about the offending officer."

"Oh sure, give him more attention. That's _just_ what he wants. Well, _I'm_ not going to give it to him," she said matter-of-factly.

"I don't know what your problem is today, just make the call."

"Fine," she said shortly. "But I bet he doesn't answer."

"Then call the second number that I know you have."

"That probably won't do any good either."

"Figure something out."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Tristan was sitting at his desk that afternoon. He and Mark were working their way through a stack of tips that had come in. They were setting aside any that seemed pertinent. Tristan's cell phone started to ring from his pocket and he gave no indication that he heard it.

Mark heard the familiar ring and looked up. "Are you going to get that?"

"Nope."

After the buzzing stopped, Mark's phone started to ring. "Stevenson," he answered. "Oh, hold on. You got the wrong extension. I'll transfer you."

Tristan glared at his partner when his desk phone rang. He grudgingly picked it up. "DuGrey." There was silence for a moment. "You didn't get the wrong extension, did you?"

"Nope," Rory answered.

"You should have known that wasn't going to work. What do you want?"

"Do you have any suspects in custody?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Any new leads?"

"Perhaps."

"I'm going to assume perhaps not, since you're sitting at your desk."

"Assume away, you know what that makes you," he countered. "I could tell you more, but I'm not really in the mood to come over to collect on the favor tonight."

"You're a pain in the ass," she snapped indignantly.

"Right back at you, Princess."

"Paris is trying to get a hold of you—I'm not your secretary. Sorry to take up so much of your time, _Counselor_," she said scathingly before hanging up.

Tristan sneered and shook his head as he slammed the phone down.

"You guys must really like to make up," Mark observed.

Tristan didn't look up as he gave his partner the finger before taking his cell phone out of his pocket. He scrolled down and chose a contact.

"Hello?"

"Paris, hey."

"Talk fast. I'm on my way to scrub in for surgery."

"Sorry I missed your call. I was with the prosecutor. We went to see a judge this morning. I got your e-mail."

"Did I give you enough names?"

"More than enough, I only needed one."

"I thought I'd give you choices."

"Well, I passed the names on to the A.D.A. He can pick one."

"Sounds good. How are things?" she asked wearily. It was an obligatory question.

"You said you were in a hurry, now you have time for small talk?"

"I talked to Rory earlier."

"I heard as much, and I'm sorry about that."

"For what?"

"That you had to deal with her. She's in rare form at the moment."

"Hmm, I thought maybe you were in the dog house. Now it sounds like she is too."

"You know what? I think it's time for your surgery to start and I need to go. Thanks for your help, I'll talk to you later," he said quickly before hanging up and returning to his work.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Rory was sitting on her couch later that night, trying to read a book. She had read the same page four times, but still wasn't sure what it said. She got up and went to the kitchen. She opened a cabinet and pulled out a box of Apple Jacks. They had apple in the title, so they must be healthy. There weren't any clean bowls—again—so she took the box back to the couch and sat down, digging into the cereal with her hand.

She looked at her phone, which was sitting on the coffee table, and something hit her. She should have thought of it sooner. She picked it up and pressed the assigned number on her speed dial.

"Hello?" Lorelai answered.

"Do you know what the best part of working at _Daily News_ is?"

"I get to tell people you work at the _Daily Planet_?"

"I don't work there."

"But you work at the building they used for the movie."

"No I don't. That was the old headquarters."

"No one else has to know that."

"I forgot what I was saying. And I blame you."

"The best part about working at the _Daily News_."

"Right, the best part is that it's so close to Penn Station."

"Because you really love watching trains go by?"

"No. But I _can_ hop on a train after work, no problem."

"When are you going to do that?" Lorelai asked eagerly.

"Tomorrow."

"You're going to come for a girl's night?" She sounded giddy.

"Yes. I have to get away from the city," Rory said firmly. "This week sucks."

"Are you woes business or personal?"

"Both." That probably wasn't a good thing, Rory thought. "And I want you to do something for me."

"Your wish is my command."

"Get us out of Friday night dinner. I don't want to go."

"You don't have to ask _me_ twice. I'll make the call as soon as we're finished talking."

"Don't tell Grandma I'll be home."

"Of course I won't. She likes _you_," Lorelai said. "I'm pretty confident I can swing it, too. I have a feeling we wouldn't be noticed this week anyway."

"Good, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes you will."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Tristan got home around seven o'clock that evening, he hadn't rushed. He didn't usually go home on Thursday nights. But he was home _this_ Thursday night. He lay down on his couch and turned on the television. He flipped through all the channels twice before his phone started to vibrate from inside his pocket. He debated whether or not he wanted to accept the call. When he considered who he wanted to talk to, he came up with no one and therefore, definitely didn't want to answer. But he sighed and took it out anyway.

"Hello?" he answered before listening to the caller. "I'm not going to Connecticut this weekend, Grandpa. I have to work. . . No, I can't get out of it. I don't have a secretary who can clear my appointments for the day—partly because I don't have a secretary and partly because I don't have appointments. . . No. I'm not going to that. . . I don't care if I made the suggestion. I'm _not_ going with you. . . Grandpa, trust me, there is absolutely no way you will talk me into going to Hartford this weekend . . . That was considerate of her to invite me, but it's getting a huge no from me. You can send my regards . . . That's not even a _little_ bit tempting . . . Because I know what you're trying to do and I don't need you to find women for me. I can find my own just fine. . . You don't know that. For all you know, I could have a perfectly respectable and legitimate girlfriend. . . That's definitely not going to happen, either."

Tristan listened some more before sighing in frustration. "You know, pretty soon you're not going to have that to hang over my head. What will you use for leverage then? My final answer is no," he said before pausing to listen some more. "No," he retorted one more time before ending the call. He tossed the phone down on the coffee table and scowled at it before getting up to go find something to eat from the kitchen.


	4. Mean Bone

**Title**: Libertad

**Chapter ****4**: Mean Bone

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**A/N**: I started this chapter so many months ago, it's really bizarre for someone other than me to finally read it. Trory will be front and center, hope that's all right with everyone

_I have a right to my anger, and I don't want anybody telling me I shouldn't be, that it's not nice to be, and that something's wrong with me because I get angry.__ –__Maxine Waters__ [__in Brian Lanker, I Dream a World]_

**Mean Bone**

"All right, I had a feeling they wouldn't. Thanks anyway," Tristan said before he put his phone down on the cradle. He got up and walked over to the interrogation room. Mark was inside, questioning Brian Sloan some more. Tristan knocked on the door and his partner walked out. "The prints don't match him. And he alibis out."

"That's too bad. He's kind of a douche," Mark said.

"Yeah, but he didn't kill anyone. Cut him loose," Tristan said before heading back to his desk. His cell phone vibrated from his pocket and he took it out to answer. "DuGrey."

"Tristan, are you busy?" Janlen DuGrey asked.

"Yes. I'm at work. Don't you know my work voice when you hear it? I apparently have one."

"Well, I need a minute of you time. Have you reconsidered?"

"Reconsidered what?"

"My request that you come with me to the party tonight."

"I'm sorry, but were you under the impression that I _was_ reconsidering it?"

"Next week I'll be out of the country."

"Okay, have fun. It's not like I was planning on going to Hartford then, either."

"You know, I'm not going to be around forever. You should spend time with me before it's too late."

"You're slipping, Old Man. Is that the best you've got?"

"How about this, it would mean a lot to me if you accompanied me tonight. And I know for a fact everyone would be happy to see you."

"I doubt that."

"You don't have to stay all weekend, just come tonight."

Tristan sighed in defeat. "Fine, you win. I'll meet you there. But I'm only staying for one hour."

"Three."

Tristan scoffed. "Fat chance. An hour and a half."

"Two hours."

"Fine."

"I'll see you at seven o'clock, sharp."

"I guess you will."

"Don't sound so grim. I think you might have a nice time."

"I can guarantee that I won't."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Later that afternoon, Rory was sitting at her desk, typing an article. About college expenses. She had the information, so she looked up some statistics and decided to go ahead and write the article. She was planning on leaving a little earlier than usual today so she could get a train to Hartford.

She looked up when Marie walked over and dropped her notebook on Rory's desk.

"Here're your statements from the City College administrators," Marie said. She didn't sound happy as she sat down at her desk.

"What's wrong?"

"Well, when I was on campus, I saw your detective, so I thought I'd get an update for you. But he wouldn't answer any of my questions. He glanced my way and kept going."

"He did not."

"He did."

Rory shook her head and took her cell phone out of her drawer, she was about to hit the speed dial when she remembered that he wasn't going to take her call. "Can I borrow your cell phone?"

"Sure, here." Marie handed over the device and Rory dialed Tristan's cell.

She impatiently drummed her fingers on her desk as she waited.

"DuGrey."

"You are unbelievable, you know that?" she asked hotly.

"Sure, but it's still nice to hear now and then. Who is this?"

"You know who it is. Or wait, maybe you don't. I guess droves of women are trying to get a piece of you, what with you being such a catch and all. You probably can't keep track of any _one_ woman's voice at this point," Rory taunted.

"That's right, you figured me out," Tristan said sardonically. "I really want to deal with more than one unreasonable woman. Like you aren't enough of a hand full as it is."

Rory rolled her eyes. "Why didn't you answer Marie's questions when she saw you this afternoon?"

"I thought you'd be happy about that."

"Why would you think that?"

"Well this way, she doesn't have to pay me back—tonight wouldn't really work for me anyway. I have plans that I couldn't get out of."

Rory scowled and wondered—with an annoying twang of jealousy—what his plans were. "Now see, I knew it would only be a matter of time before you were off the market, thanks to your centerfold."

"Did you call for a reason? Or was it just to make outrageous accusations?"

"Just because you have a problem with me doesn't mean you can take it out on the _Daily News_. I thought you called yourself a professional."

"That's the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think?"

"How do you figure?"

"Your co-worker is not the reporter on this case. If the _Daily News_ wants to know what's happening, then I guess you shouldn't pass your work off on someone else just so you can avoid me."

"I had to go to a _meeting_ this afternoon. Mr. Zuckerman was there. He kind of runs things around here. Say, do you know whose office is on the 'Fourteenth Floor' down at One Police Plaza?"

"Gee, I don't know. The commissioner?"

"Oh good, you _do_ know. Now, if he asked you to meet with him, I'm sure you consider _yourself_ enough of a badass to blow him off. But when _my_ superior wants me in a meeting, I go."

"I'm going to ask one more time. Do you _need_ something?"

"Do you have any new suspects?"

"For which homicide?"

"Pick one."

"No."

"Fine, for Lance Sooner."

"I wasn't saying no to picking a homicide. I was answering your question. No new suspects—for any of them."

"What about that kid—Brian Sloan?"

"It wasn't him."

"How do you know?"

"Because we followed procedure and concluded he didn't do it."

"Is Greene still a person of interest?"

"Yes."

"That's all I wanted."

"Fantastic." They both hung up after that.

Rory handed Marie her phone back and went back to her article about college. When James walked over a while later, she was just finishing her update on the homicides.

"Here," she said, handing him one of the articles while the other printed.

"What's this?"

"It's an article. That's what we do here—write articles."

"I see that. Why did you write about the cost of college?"

She shrugged. "I felt like it."

"What am I supposed to do with it?"

"Put it in the paper. I can write things on my own, you know. I don't have to go chasing after the police to write an interesting story."

"I know. I just didn't know you were writing about this."

"Well, now you do." She grabbed the other paper from her printer and handed it to her editor, as well. "Here's an update on the murders. I'm going to head out. I won't be in tomorrow."

"I'm actually okay with that. Maybe you'll have a better attitude come Monday."

She glared at him before she grabbed her bag that was stashed under her desk and left the newsroom.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Meanwhile, Tristan was on the phone, waiting for his grandfather to pick up.

"Hello?" Janlen answered.

"I changed my mind. I'm definitely not going to be able to make it tonight."

"You already said you were going to come. You're expected. It's too late to get out of it now."

"No it isn't."

"You agreed, Tristan."

"It was only verbal. Trust me, verbal agreements never hold up in court."

"But they hold up with me."

"Can't you just send me some contracts to look over and we'll call it even?"

"No. And you should be leaving soon, if you haven't already. I will see you shortly."

"You're going to regret it."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not promising to behave."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Two hours later, Rory was riding in the Jeep with her mother. Lorelai had just picked Rory up from the train station.

"I am so excited about this girl's weekend we're going to have," Lorelai said cheerfully.

"So am I. Sometimes I just can't stand the city. This is one of those times."

"And Stars Hollow is the perfect cure."

"Then what's with the detour?" Rory asked, frowning at the direction her mother was driving.

"Well, I have good news and bad news about tonight."

"Give me the good news first."

"There won't be any Friday night dinner."

"Thank God, I knew I could count on you."

"Right," Lorelai said guiltily. "Unfortunately, Mom figured out you would be in town tonight. I accidently said 'we' couldn't make it and she wanted to know who 'we' were. I tried to save face, but it was too late."

"But you just said no Friday night dinner."

"Well, there won't be dinner, but there _will_ be a cocktail party."

"What?"

"Yeah, it's for clients of your grandfather. So it'll probably get pretty wild."

"Ah man," Rory groaned.

"Mom was really happy when she realized you'd be with me. She talked about making a call to someone. My guess is, she's finally found you a husband," Lorelai said with a smile.

"What? No, not tonight, I'm not in the mood."

"Well, until you find your own, she's going to be there with the assist."

"The point of a girl's weekend is that there are no men."

"Maybe she didn't find someone for tonight. It _was_ short notice."

"That gives me little comfort. It's Grandma, there's no such thing as too short notice."

"Sorry."

"No you aren't. You like to watch her efforts."

"That's true. It's a schadenfreude thing."

"Well, I'm not going to make a very good first impression tonight. Plus, I'm still in the clothes I wore to work and won't have time to change. She's going to have to deal with it."

"Telling it like it is. I like it."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

A short while later, Rory stood with Lorelai at the front door of the Gilmore house. Lorelai stalled as long as she could before Rory shook her head and just rang the bell.

"I would have rung it eventually," Lorelai protested.

"Sure you would have," Rory stated, crossing her arms as they waited for the door to open.

When it did, Emily Gilmore was on the other side. "Girls, good, you're finally here. Well come in, come in," she said, beckoning for them to enter the house.

They complied and hung their purses on the coat rack by the door.

"Lorelai, didn't you tell Rory we were having a party? She would have had time to change, if you had."

"Hello to you too, Mom. Your impression of Gran is getting really good."

Emily shook her head before turning to her granddaughter. "Rory, I'm so glad you were in town this evening."

"Yeah, it worked out pretty well, didn't it," she said, not too enthusiastically as she glanced around the party.

"Come with me," Emily said eagerly, grabbing Rory by the arm and weaving around groups of guests who were mingling around the first floor of the house.

Lorelai, not wanting to be left out, tagged along to see the pending show. Emily led Rory to a corner of the living room. Lorelai almost ran into her daughter when they stopped in front of a man wearing a three piece suit, sans jacket, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had a five o'clock shadow and he was holding a drink in one hand. His lips were set in a grim line and he fixed Rory with a steady, foreboding gaze as Emily spoke.

"Rory, this is Tristan DuGrey."

Rory glared at him before responding. "I know, Grandma, we went to Chilton together, remember?"

"Oh, that's right," Emily said with a smile. Lorelai thought her mother's surprise didn't sound genuine. "Tristan moved to Manhattan last fall."

"What a coincidence," Lorelai said with a devious smile.

Emily ignored her. So did Rory.

"He was just named one of New York City's most eligible bachelors," Emily beamed.

Rory narrowed her eyes at Tristan. "Congratulations. That sounds like quite an achievement. Who did you do to make _that_ list?" she asked.

His eyes turned steely and he clenched his jaw to bite back a response in front of their hostess.

Lorelai looked to her daughter in surprise.

Emily didn't seem to notice their hostility towards each other, though, as she continued on with Tristan's list of accomplishments. "He went to Harvard."

"Neat," Rory said, unimpressed.

"We call that a youthful indiscretion here," Lorelai put in.

Tristan was the only one to shift his eyes in her direction.

"He also graduated from Yale Law School."

Rory saw him quickly look to the ceiling, in a mildly successful attempt to not roll his eyes. She raised a brow at him, now more fascinated in what her grandmother had to say. "Really? Well, what a coincidence, _I_ went to Yale, too. What law firm do you work for in New York? Maybe I've heard of it," she asked him a bit too eagerly.

"I don't actually _practice_ law," he replied, speaking for the first time. "I enforce it."

"He's one of New York's Finest," Emily explained, completely oblivious of how unnecessary an explanation was needed.

"That's a first," Lorelai said so only Rory could hear.

"Rory writes for the New York_ Daily News_. It has the sixth highest circulation in the country. She also lives in Manhattan. You're probably neighbors and didn't even know it," Emily told Tristan with a grin. "In fact, she investigates crime, just like you."

"We're practically doing the same job," he commented wryly.

"Practically," Rory agreed.

"I am _so_ glad we came here tonight," Lorelai commented happily as she watched her mother try to set Rory up.

"Well, I'll just leave you two to catch up. Lorelai, why don't you come with me?" Emily asked.

"That's okay, I'm all right here."

"But I really insist—"

"It's okay, Grandma, she can stay," Rory said.

Her grandmother looked a bit disappointed. "Well, all right," she grudgingly said before walking away.

Lorelai smiled at her daughter and Tristan. "Wow, your biological clock must be ticking pretty loudly in her ears these days."

"What are you talking about?" Rory asked as she tore her eyes from Tristan's for the first time since seeing him there.

"No offense," Lorelai said, looking at Tristan and then back at Rory, "but a cop? This is the first time she's ever introduced you to someone who carries around a firearm. You do carry a gun, don't you?"

"Oh yeah, I'm usually armed and dangerous. I didn't think it would be wise to have it on me tonight though," he answered.

"Good call. I often wish I could carry one when I'm here."

"I'm sorry, but what does any of this have to do with my biological clock?" Rory asked impatiently.

"Well, when you turned down a Huntzburger, it was one thing," Lorelai started. Rory glanced at Tristan quickly and saw that he had a brow raised this time. "But now Mom is just getting desperate. You _will _be thirty this year and haven't provided her with any great-grandchildren yet." She turned back to Tristan. "I guess it's the Yale thing that balances out the fact that you're a cop."

"Detective, to be more specific. But yeah, Yale probably _is_ my one saving grace," he said self-depreciatively. "What kinds of guys does your mother usually bring around?" he asked Lorelai, ignoring Rory, who opened her mouth to protest.

"Oh, you know. The usual suspects."

"No, actually. _My_ usual suspects are sometimes guilty of committing violent crimes."

"Good point, thanks for making the distinction. Let me see, the last guy was a month ago," she said with brows knit in thought. "What did he do for a living?"

"Investment banking," Rory answered hastily.

"That's what it was. I knew it was something boring. And before that it was a venture capitalist that'd gone to Princeton. I'm sure you have better stories to tell, at least."

"I could think of a few good ones," he agreed as he stared at Rory callously.

She didn't bother to look away disgracefully.

"You know," Lorelai said, looking to Rory, "if you really want your grandmother to stop bringing single men around, just tell her you've been seeing someone in New York for a few months."

Tristan cocked a brow. "A few months, huh? Does that mean I'm wasting my time here tonight?"

"Not necessarily. I'm not convinced that guy actually exists." He quickly shot Rory a dirty look before turning back to Lorelai when she continued. "I was supposed to get to meet him at Paris's wedding last month, but he suddenly 'couldn't get away'. If that doesn't scream fake boyfriend, I don't know what does."

"He _did_ come later, Mom."

"Yes, conveniently after I had to get back to the inn."

Rory looked to Tristan, as though expecting him to back her up, but he shook his head and shrugged.

He addressed Lorelai again. "Well, maybe he exists, but she's ashamed of him." He sounded conversational, but Rory knew it was with a scornful demeanor.

"That could be, but why?" They were both looking at Rory now and she glared back at them.

"Six fingers on one hand?" he suggested.

"Horrible disfiguration?" Lorelai tried.

"Poor?"

"One arm?"

"Bad New York accent?"

"Or worse, he has bad connections. But we _could_ be wrong. She said they work together sometimes."

"How very Lois Lane and Clark Kent," he said somewhat mockingly.

"I told you he sometimes _contributes_ to the paper," Rory clarified.

"So, a freelance writer," Lorelai said.

Rory did look away in shame this time, for never correcting her mother's assumption. When she looked back up—with an almost apologetic face—Tristan just shook his head at her with a piteous look.

Her mother turned back to him. "Either way, she sounds happy when she mentions him. So, perhaps he _is_ real."

"Perhaps," he agreed quietly before he took a drink of his Scotch.

"What are you doing here, Tristan?" Rory finally snapped at him in agitation. "You don't do business with my grandfather."

"No, but _my_ grandfather does. He coerced me into coming with him," he answered, jerking his head towards an elderly gentleman a few yards away who was talking with a group of businessmen. "Trust me, I tried to get out of it. What are _you_ doing here, Mary?"

"For the party of course. I didn't need much incentive to get out of the city."

"It _can_ be a huge pain."

Next to Rory, Lorelai slapped her leg as though she'd just had an epiphany. The other two both looked at her questioningly. "I got it! You were the one who called her Mary at Chilton," she exclaimed, pointing at Tristan. "That's why your name sounded vaguely familiar. Let me tell you, she did _not_ like you."

Tristan's eyes cut to Rory in annoyance.

"Yup, he's the one," she said flatly.

The group next to them was close enough that the three could catch some of their conversation. Presently, they could overhear Janlen DuGrey talking. "It was actually my grandson, Tristan, who suggested I do business with Richard again. I was so surprised he was showing any interest in something that didn't involve gun caliber or admissible evidence that I thought it was an excellent idea. Plus, he has a legal mind, so he knows what he's talking about," he jovially told the other men.

Tristan didn't try to resist this time, he rolled his eyes at the remark. "Excuse me, but my ears just started ringing," he told Rory and Lorelai before walking over to his grandfather.

"Wow, that was amazing," Lorelai said, turning to Rory in awe. "I thought I knew it all, but you have to teach me everything. I insist."

"Teach you what?"

"About grudge holding. You should have seen the daggers you were shooting at that guy," she said. "High school was pretty long ago, you've been holding on to some serious resentment."

"Oh. Well, he gave me a pretty hard time back then," Rory said as justification.

"Still. It was a long time ago. And Paris gave you a hard time, too. But you're friends with _her_."

"That's different."

"How?"

"I don't know, it just is. Do you want to go get a drink?" she asked, changing the subject.

"I thought you'd never ask," Lorelai said as she steered them in the direction of the alcohol.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Rory had been milling about the party for about an hour, making small talk with guests and mentally compiling a list of all the other torturous activities she'd rather be engaged in. When she had a moment to herself, she glanced outside and saw Tristan, alone, out on the patio, elbows propped up against the outer wall of the enclosed area. He was staring off into the darkness, drink still in hand.

Rory looked around before she walked outside, closing the double doors behind her. She walked over to the wall and stood a couple of feet from him. She glanced at him quickly, but he didn't look back at her. So she mirrored his stance and stared off into the distance. At length, neither said a word. The only sounds came from the party goers inside and the bugs chirping outside.

Tristan swirled the ice in his glass and took a drink before he finally spoke. "Your mother seems nice."

"She has her moments."

"She doesn't have any idea who _I_ am," he said, carefully keeping his resentment in check.

"Yes she does," Rory argued, still not looking at him.

"Oh yeah, alternately as someone who may not exist and as the jerk who called you Mary."

"Well, you still do, so it's not like it's far off base," she replied, not disputing his self-inflicted insult.

"Nice."

"You heard what she said, I told her the highlights. I don't recall you caring very much when you didn't get to meet her last month." He just scoffed in response, not impressed with her lack of transparency where her mother was concerned. Rory continued to defend herself. "She and I don't tell each other _everything _anymore. We aren't as close now that I live in New York."

"That's a lie and you know it. You've left me on hold and then forgotten about me when you're on the phone with her."

"That happened once and I called you back to apologize. Besides, it's not like I heard your grandfather say that you suggested your girlfriend's grandfather for his insurance needs."

"Oh, so tonight you think you're my girlfriend? The other day we just had an _arrangement_," Tristan crossly reminded her.

"I think tonight proves that we _do_."

"Tonight's proving something, all right. And for your information, my sex life isn't any of my grandfather's business."

"But everyone can know that you're worthy to be chosen? All the women in New York City must be giddy with their good fortune, to have such a desirable man out there protecting them."

"You're going to bring _that_ up—now?" he asked, unbelieving. He finally turned to look at her. "I don't even understand what your problem is."

"My problem? You can't be serious. It means you're _single_, Tristan—not attached to anyone in particular."

"Here's a newsflash for you, eligible is not a synonym for available. And bachelor just means unmarried."

"It's impliedthat you're available. Why would they make a list of guys who already have girlfriends? The only conclusion _I've_ come up with is that they don't. So you must just have a thing with some reporter, who's out to get a story however she can."

"Those are your words, not mine. But there must some truth to it on _your_ end, seeing how your grandmother has been trying to set you up with random men. Anyone with a decent last name and an Ivy League education will suffice. How is that any better than what I did?" he demanded. "If you're really that offended about the damn thing, I can go back in there and kill two birds with one stone. I'll just get everyone's attention and tell them the article was all a mistake. I'm sure your grandparents will be thrilled to learn that we already roll around in the sheets on a regular basis."

"Fine, do it," Rory challenged.

"You're bluffing," he spat. "You think you're entitled to be mad about some stupid list, but I don't get to be upset about you not telling anyone in your family about me?"

"What does it matter if they don't know about us if you don't have to tell anyone in _your_ family?"

"_I_ only speak to one family member," he said. "And I sometimes get the feeling he only talks to me for the free legal advice."

"Yeah, about that. Why didn't you ever mention that you went to Yale?" she asked, looking towards him expectantly.

"I don't want to talk about Yale."

"Well, I do. Do you tell _anyone_ you went there?"

"I pretty obviously don't—if I can help it."

"Why not?"

"Because it's irrelevant. It was a long time ago and I'm clearly not a lawyer."

"It wasn't _that_ long ago. And Yale is something _we_ have in common. I don't understand why you don't claim it."

"Yes you do. You figured everything else out. Kind of like how you always knew I went there. I know you knew, and I'm one hundred and ten percent sure you knew that I knew you knew." He took her silence as confirmation. "Then get over it. It isn't important to me."

Rory sighed in frustration.

They stood in silence again. Tristan broke it after a few minutes. "So, what did Logan offer you?" He turned to her in curiosity. "I'm guessing it wasn't a mere date that you turned down, since your mother mentioned him in the same sentence as great-grandchildren. Plus, you committed that felony with him."

"How do you even know his first name?"

"I can find out stuff, too. So what was it?"

Rory turned back to him so she could glare at him before responding. "It was a long time ago, so it doesn't matter."

"Well now you're just being spiteful."

"Fine, you want to know? He proposed right before I graduated college."

Tristan gave a single nod of his head before he turned to continue staring into the distance. When he made no further response, Rory turned to stare at the nothingness, too.

A few minutes later his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out to answer. "DuGrey . . . Where are you now? . . . I'm in Connecticut, so it'll be a little while before I can get back." Rory turned to Tristan, listening in on the conversation. "All right, I'll be there as soon as I can," he said before hanging up and putting the phone back in his pocket. He started to walk away without a word.

"Where are you going?" she asked, offended by his abrupt exit.

"Back to New York," he answered, stopping to look at her for a moment.

"Is it about the case? Was that Stevenson? What is it?" she asked quickly.

He considered her for a second before answering. "I'm not at liberty to say."

"It _is_ about the case. Let me go with you," she demanded, starting towards him.

"Yeah, that's not going to happen. You see, we're in a fight here and we're keeping secrets. So, just add this one to my list. I think I'm winning," he said snidely as he opened the door.

Rory thought for a moment before going back into the house and to the coat rack. She walked back into the living room and looked for her grandmother. She found her, with Richard and Janlen.

Tristan was already standing with the group. "I'm sorry to leave early, but I'm going to have to go back to New York," he explained to his grandfather and their hosts.

Emily and Richard looked disappointed by his early departure.

Rory approached the group then, talking into her phone. "You really think so? I mean, I guess I can come back, if you think I need to. Okay, bye." Tristan looked at her suspiciously, acutely aware that there was no one on the other end. Rory looked at Emily before speaking. "Grandma, that was my editor. The police just found some new information about the homicide I'm covering. So I'm going to have to go back tonight."

"You don't suppose it's the same thing Tristan has to get back for, do you?" Janlen asked, turning to his grandson.

"That's extremely doubtful. It's a big city, it has a lot of crime," Tristan answered, eyeing Rory warningly.

"Well, if you're both going back to New York at the same time, maybe you could ride together," Emily suggested, the idea clearly brightening her initial disappointment of Tristan having to leave so soon.

Rory smiled smugly and looked at Tristan, ignoring the look he was giving her. "Oh, well, I wouldn't want to impose," she said pleasantly.

"Nonsense," Janlen argued. "Of course you can ride with Tristan. Can't she?"

Everyone looked to the blonde man now. He considered the fact that all eyes were on him for a moment before answering, seeing no way out of it. "Fine. Let's go."

"Good, it's settled," Emily said with a smile, clearly pleased by the outcome. "Rory, I'll call you later next week to see how things turned out."

Rory doubted she was referring to the homicide. "Okay, bye Grandma, bye Grandpa," she said and turned to Janlen, as well. "Good bye, Mr. DuGrey, it was nice meeting you."

She had to hurry to catch up with Tristan, who had already put his drink down and had stalked off in the direction of the door. She quickly grabbed her belongings and followed him outside and into his Camaro. They put on their seat belts in silence and he started the car. His fast music blasted from the speakers quickly pulled out of the driveway. Knowing it would draw attention, he waited until he was out of the subdivision before he turned on the flashing light on the dash.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Thirty minutes went by with neither of them speaking. After Rory finished texting Lorelai about leaving the party, she turned the volume down as Tristan sped down the interstate. He glanced over in annoyance.

"So, it wasn't just the cop thing that made your dad change the terms of your trust fund, was it?" she asked him.

"You've proven that you can force your company on me, but that doesn't mean you can force your conversation, too," he said without answering her question, turning the music back up.

She turned it down again and he scowled. "Why do you insist on being so closed off?" she exclaimed, getting frustrated all over again.

"Just drop it, Rory," he advised.

"No, I want to know."

"You wouldn't understand, okay?"

"No, not okay. Maybe I'd understand if you'd just _tell_ me about it."

"You don't know what it's like. You have people who accept you unconditionally the way you are. They aren't embarrassed by you and haven't disowned you for the decisions you've made. Affection—like money—isn't contingent for you. Your family doesn't think of you as one great big disappointment."

"You think I've never disappointed them before?"

"Oh, do you mean the time you briefly dropped out of Yale?" he asked sarcastically.

"How do you know about that?" she asked in surprise and anger.

"What, do you _really_ think you're the only one who's allowed to do a little homework? It's my job to be intrusive just as much as it is yours."

"But I'm not a suspect you can investigate," she fumed.

"I didn't do any more than you did."

"Fine. Someone put it in my head that I couldn't be a journalist, so I dropped out of college for a while."

"How nice for you, to be able to leave Yale whenever you wanted."

"_You_ wanted to?"

"Yes, but I didn't. My grandfather wasn't going take my side if I didn't."

"And now you're a lawyer?"

"We both know I'm not. But I haven't been disbarred, to my knowledge. I finished what I started and got the damn JD I'm all licensed to practice law—not that I ever have."

"Why not?"

He glanced over at her with an incredulous look. "What? Why does it matter? Would your mom have known who I was tonight if I was some silver tongued prince of the courtroom?"

"What?"

"No, I'd really like to know. Would you prefer if I sat behind a desk all day, helping to put criminals back on the streets? I'd be making the big bucks that way. That's why you turned down the other guy, right? Because he lost all of his money?" he asked in a snarky tone, aiming to sting.

"_What_?" she asked, infuriated by the insinuation, barely noticing the fact that he'd done some serious snooping.

"That's when he asked you to marry him, wasn't it? He lost his money around the time that you graduated."

"Yes, that's when he asked. I wanted to be able to take any job that was offered and he wanted me to go to California with him—as his wife. It was all or nothing with him, so that's when it ended. It didn't have anything to do with his money," Rory fumed. "_You_ are out of order, Counselor. I cannot _believe_ you would even imply that."

"Stop calling me counselor."

"Do you really think I'm that shallow?" she continued.

"I honestly don't know right now. And frankly, you're giving me a headache, one of your many talents," he answered. "But you must believe _I'm_ that shallow—or starved for attention—if you think I'm trying to score some extra tail because of a stupid article."

"Well if you aren't, then why did you agree to be eligible?"

"Oh, because _that_ would be the only reason to play along."

"_I_ can't think of any other reason."

"Then just forget it. You're clearly not in the frame of mind to understand tonight."

"I understand just fine. You want to keep your options open."

"Do you even hear yourself talk?" he asked in disbelief. "I really wish I was wearing a wire right now so I could play back this conversation for you. Then maybe you could hear how ridiculous you sound."

"_I_ sound ridiculous?"

"Yes. Not to mention obscenely jealous. And for no reason. Are you the mayor of Crazy Town, or is it an empire that you reign over as queen? I just want to know how I should be addressing you right now."

"And now I'm crazy. Great," she said sarcastically, looking out the window as they neared the city.

"You're _acting_ crazy. Someone took my picture so now we just have a standing business meeting? If I recall, not all of our interactions outside of work requires a bed."

Rory snorted. "Is now really the time to brag about your prowess?"

"Don't give me that. You know what I mean. I can think of plenty of occasions where, _some_ might say, we've behaved as though we have a relationship. Or had one. I don't really know right now," he said, concentrating on choosing the proper exit to take them to Lower Manhattan. "And for what it's worth, I do have my reasons, so maybe you should just have a little faith. Is that so much to ask?"

Rory just shook her head, tired of arguing. "Whatever Tristan."

"Whatever Rory."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

"Is this a crime scene?" Rory asked a little while later, looking over at the emergency vehicles that were in front of an apartment building.

"Looks like it."

"Is it another homicide?"

"Well, I'm kind of a homicide detective, so yeah." He got out of the car and Rory followed.

"You went all this time without mentioning someone else was killed?"

Tristan looked over at her, brows furrowed. "I think you know I can keep a secret a lot longer than an hour and a half." They approached the apartment building and Tristan met Stevenson at the crime scene tape.

Mark looked from Tristan to Rory, confused as to why she was there, too. "Did I interrupt something?" he asked.

"_No_," Tristan and Rory both retorted.

"Okay. We haven't been assigned as the primaries on this one so far. Meyer just wanted us to take a look."

"Was someone strangled?" Tristan asked.

"Yeah. That's why he wanted us to come. It doesn't look like the others, though. It might be a copy cat—a bad one, by the looks of it. Come on," Mark said, lifting the yellow tape for Tristan to duck under. They headed to the building and Rory glanced to her right and scowled.

"So, that's your definition of professional, huh?" Wendy Lu asked.

"What are you talking about?"

"I saw you with the blonde. You came here together."

"I am _not_ going to discuss that with you. Do you understand me?" Rory said severely. "Why are you even here? It isn't morning."

She didn't wait for an answer before walking around and finding a way into the building. She spent the better part of an hour knocking on doors and getting quotes from the neighbors. She was able to piece together what happened through their accounts. She was about to leave the building when the detectives got to the floor she was on.

"_What_ are you doing here?" Tristan asked angrily.

"I'm finding out what happened."

"Yeah, from really reliable sources. This is a crime scene. We don't need people traipsing around."

"The crime scene is downstairs. You don't own the whole building."

"Get outside and wait for one of us to tell you freeloading jackals something," he ordered.

Rory shot him a dirty look, but went to the stairwell to go back outside.

"That was harsh," Stevenson commented.

"It was deserved."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

A little while later, Tristan and Mark were wrapping up their discussion with the primary detectives on the investigation. They were standing at the entrance of the apartment building.

Mark looked over to the few reporters who had shown up at the crime scene. "There aren't as many of them tonight," he observed.

"Probably because it isn't at City College. They don't know it was strangulation again."

"Well, have fun talking with them. It's your turn."

"My turn? That isn't how we do this."

"Come on, you're better at it. Take one for the team."

"_You_ take one for the team," Tristan said, retrieving a quarter out of his pocket. "Heads or tails?"

"Seriously? It's only three of them. And one is—"

"I'm going to stop you right there. It wouldn't be wise to end that sentence. Now, _heads_ or _tails_?"

"Tails."

Tristan tossed the quarter in the air and caught it. He slapped it on the back of his hand and scowled down at the results. "Two out of three?"

"That isn't how we do this," Mark said.

"Fine." Tristan walked over to the reporters and they looked at him expectantly. "This was a homicide. The victim's name was Christine Shaw, and she was strangled."

"Do you think it's the same person who killed those students at City College?" Wendy asked eagerly.

"No."

"Why not?" Rory asked.

"Because. It looks like it's an isolated incident. The others didn't leave much evidence, this one did. And the victim wasn't strangled with a belt this time."

"Are there any suspects yet?" the other reporter asked.

"No," Tristan answered. "We're done here. I've said all I have to say." All three reporters turned to go, but the detective had other plans for one of them. "Mary." She turned and he motioned with an index finger for her to come back.

"What?"

"There was a struggle with this one. The victim wasn't stabbed, but there was a bloody knife in her hand."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm your source. It's why you keep me around, isn't it? I'm just giving you what you want." He ducked under the yellow tape and took Rory by her wrist. He started walking down the sidewalk, towards his car.

She tried to pull her arm away, but he held onto it firmly. "Let me go," she said angrily, but he didn't acquiesce. "I can find my own way home."

"How? You aren't going to get a cab at this time of night. And you don't have any business being out alone," he said as he led her down the sidewalk. He didn't release her wrist until he had opened the passenger side door. She grudgingly got in. After they were both buckled in and Tristan had driven off, neither spoke.

They rode in silence for a while, until Rory frowned at the street signs. "Where are we going?"

"Home."

"Whose home?"

"My home."

"Maybe I don't want to go to your home."

"Then maybe you should have thought of that when you cleverly wormed your way into riding back to the city. I don't feel like driving all the way to the Upper East Side tonight." Rory sulked as she looked out the window. "Go ahead and stay mad at me. I fully intend on staying mad at you."

Fifteen minutes later they were in Tristan's twelfth floor apartment. He locked the door and turned around.

Rory was standing in front of him with her arms crossed, ready to go another round. "So, what else have you lied about?"

"Go to bed." He moved around her and started unbuttoning his vest as he headed for the bedroom.

"Answer my question," she said, following him down the short hallway.

"I've had a long, trying day. I don't feel like discussing this any more."

"We haven't discussed it, you keep refusing. Just like now, you're evading my question."

"What makes you think I've lied about anything?" he asked in annoyance as he took off his shirt and tie.

"Because you went to Yale Law School and never told me."

"That doesn't make it a lie."

"It's a lie of omission."

"I didn't _have_ to tell you. You knew."

"But come on, Yale? _Yale._ I went there."

"Oh, really? I had no idea. I said I don't want to talk about it. Just because it's more awe inspiring for you than Disney World, doesn't mean I feel the same way about it," he said as he removed his pants. "I don't want to talk about me anymore. Let's talk about _you_."

"What about me?" Rory asked as she kicked her shoes off from the opposite side of the bed.

"For starters, your grandmother introduced us tonight. As though we were strangers."

"She knew we weren't strangers," she protested while she took off her skirt.

"But she didn't know how _much_ we weren't strangers."

"Oh please. You don't even go to see _your_ grandfather without kicking and screaming the whole way. How would that make me think you would ever want to go to _my_ grandparents' house for dinner?"

"Just because I don't want to go doesn't mean I wouldn't. It also doesn't mean she should be finding other men to set you up with. If one of us is keeping their options open, it's _you,_" he retorted, pointing a finger at her.

"I am not! How was I supposed to know you wanted to meet my family? You hate going to Connecticut and I didn't think you cared."

"That was before I found out that the other guy was good enough to bring around. It was before I found out you're being paraded around other guys. And they're probably all more suitable than me."

"It's not like I ever saw any of them again," she said as she started to unbutton her blouse.

"Well, it's not like I'm 'hiking the Appalachian Trail', like you keep insisting," he countered as he turned down the covers of his bed. "You sure know how to make me sound like the least common denominator—which makes sense. You must be desperate to associate with the likes of me in the first place. That's the word your mother used, right? Desperate?"

"That isn't what she meant."

"Why don't you just admit that you're embarrassed by me? Everyone else is."

"I am not embarrassed! Or desperate. Stop putting words in my mouth. My mom wasn't talking about _me_ being desperate. She was talking about my grandmother."

"That makes it sound better. She was desperate enough to introduce you to me, the lowly detective. Good thing I went to Yale, or there's no way I would have been deemed worthy."

"That isn't true, quit being so dramatic," she said as she searched through a drawer for a night gown that was in there somewhere.

"It _is_ true. It's the only reason she would make the exception for someone in my line of work," he said as he walked around the bed to approach her—slightly menacing—and took her hands out of the drawer. "But I guess I don't have a right to be angry about any of that, since _you_ said we're just using each other. I'm paraphrasing, of course," he said mockingly. "So. I gave you some extra information tonight."

"I didn't ask you to do that."

Tristan shrugged. "Don't sweat it. I was only holding up my side of the bargain." He ran his hands down the bare skin of her torso and pulled her hips to his. "Now it's your turn to pay the piper." He lowered his head and brushed his lips over her collar bone before whispering in her ear. "That's how it works, right?"

He ran his thumbs along the elastic of her panties and then slowly slid his hands up to toy with the lace of her bra. She didn't back away, but she scowled at him, even as her breathing became labored. He sneered at her before he turned and stepped away.

But he'd stood too close. Touched just enough.

"What happened to finishing what you start?" she said provokingly, which was all he needed to hear.

He moved back and had her panties off in a second. His lips crushed hers and his tongue darted in her mouth. They kissed aggressively, as though one was going to overpower the other. She removed his boxers and let them fall to the floor. Tristan—not too gently—moved them to the bed and separated her thighs. Upon their joining together, Rory arched her back and wrapped her legs around him as he drove into her. They moved against each other forcefully until physical relief came.

When they lay still a minute later, Tristan, breathlessly, spoke. "How dare you reduce us to that?" She was expecting the anger she heard in his voice, but not the hurt. He lifted himself up and pulled the covers over her. "You should be ashamed of yourself," he muttered as he picked his boxers up off the floor. It wasn't clear which of them his comment was directed towards.

Tears gathered at the corners of Rory's eyes as she watched him leave the bedroom and close the door behind him.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Tristan was sitting at his desk the next day, with an elbow propped on the desk, his chin wresting in his hand. It was early afternoon and Stevenson was across from him, on the phone with one of the detectives they'd worked with the night before. Tristan could have been listening, but he wasn't.

He'd slept on the couch the night before. When he woke up that morning, it was to an empty apartment. Rory had left early in the morning. When he went back to his bedroom, the bed was neatly made and there was a note on the nightstand. It said that she was going back home. It didn't specify whether home was the Upper East Side or Stars Hollow. He had a feeling he knew which one it was. Not that it really mattered. He had no plans of hunting her down.

That wasn't to say he was especially proud of his actions from the night before. Though it had been consensual, it was still a premeditated move on his part, even if he'd intended to walk away. He felt like he ought to go register as a sex offender. He came out of his reverie when Mark put his phone down on the cradle.

"They found the guy."

"Already?"

"Yeah. The neighbors were right about the boyfriend. They just had to look up his address, he was there."

"Did he have a stab wound?"

"Oh yeah. They took him to a hospital so he could get patched up. They'll send over his fingerprints as soon as they can, so we'll find out if he's our guy."

"I doubt he is."

"Probably not," Mark agreed, standing up. Tristan took out some paperwork and picked up a pen. "Aren't you leaving?"

Tristan shrugged. "I don't have anywhere to go." But to an empty apartment. When did he get so boring and predictable?

"Want to go down to the gun range to blow off some steam?" Mark asked.

Tristan shook his head. "Not much steam left."

"Why don't we go out for a drink then?"

"It's barely past two o'clock. We start this early and I won't be able to drive home."

"Then I'll drive you."

"You can't drive my car."

"Do you really think I can't drive a stick shift? You know where I'm from, right?"

"Sure, so you probably learned to drive out in a field. In a truck."

"Hey, how did you know?" Mark asked. "Come on, it can be a bonding opportunity. And you already said you don't have anything else to do."

"Won't your girlfriend want to go out with you tonight?" Tristan asked sourly.

"She'll understand. Besides, you look like you're just going to hit the bottle when you get home, anyway. This way you won't be alone to get any stupid ideas."

"What do you think I'm going to do? Sleep with everyone in Manhattan?" Tristan asked in agitation.

"I hope not. That would be awkward for _us_ on Monday. I was just thinking I'd stop you from getting another tattoo."

"Oh. That did hurt the next day," Tristan said, rubbing his upper arm. "Fine," he finally agreed, tossing the pen down and standing up.

"That a boy. And while we're out, if you feel like talking, I'll at least pretend to listen."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

"I was thinking about the town meeting tonight," Lorelai said. "Do you think we should eat before we go? Or get something and take it there? I haven't gotten on Taylor's nerves in a while—well, not too much—so we should probably eat there. Keep him on his toes."

"Hmm?"

Lorelai waved her hand in front of Rory's face. She was staring at a spot on the kitchen table, not paying attention. "Hello? Earth to Rory. Are you even listening?"

Rory sighed. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

"I was talking about eating at the town meeting."

"Taylor won't like that."

"Yeah, that's why we're doing it," Lorelai frowned at her daughter over her cup of coffee. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Liar. You weren't in a good mood when you got here yesterday and now you're melancholy. What's up?"

Rory sighed again. "I've been . . . upset. I guess I could use some advice."

"Well, that's what I'm here for. Spill."

"Okay," Rory said, thinking about her words carefully. "Can I use an example? To help you put yourself in my shoes?"

"Sure, but I usually don't have any problem wearing your shoes."

"Right," Rory started. "Anyway, let's say Luke went to . . . culinary school. And for the sake of the argument, you didn't know him when he went. And he doesn't tell anyone about it."

"Why not?"

"You don't know—well, you have an idea. And even though he doesn't talk about it, _you_ know he went there."

"But he didn't tell me."

"I know."

"Then how did I find out if he didn't tell me?"

"Because you're nosy."

"Got it, continue."

"Okay. So, Luke went to culinary school and never told you, but you know. And he knows that you know."

"Wait, how does he know that I know?"

"He just does. He knows you're nosy and probably expected you to find out. So he knows."

"That makes sense."

"Now, you know that he knows that you know."

"I'm starting to get a little confused, but keep going."

"Okay, so then, out of the blue, there's an article about Luke in the _Stars Hollow Gazette_ and—even though he didn't want it in the paper—it says that he went to culinary school." Rory looked at her mother expectantly.

"And?"

"And, aren't you mad?"

"Am I mad that he _went_ to culinary school?" Lorelai asked, looking perplexed.

"No."

"Am I mad that he didn't tell me?"

"You weren't before, but now you are."

"Why?"

"Because of the article."

"But you said I already knew."

"Right."

"So what am I mad about?"

"Aren't you mad about the _way_ you found out?"

"You said I already knew."

"Well, yes. But, he told _everyone_ all at once, including you—who he should have told before everyone else."

"It sounds like I'm the only person he didn't need to tell. And he didn't want the paper to put it in there, so that's not really his fault."

"But still, he should have told you before he told all those other, meaningless, people. He isn't in a relationship with them."

"Wait, does his going to culinary school affect our relationship?"

"Well, no. But he never said anything about it, so maybe he's keeping other things from me—I mean you."

"You know, Luke once found out he had a kid and didn't tell me for a couple months, so anything else doesn't really seem quite so bad in comparison."

"Yeah, that's true."

"And he wanted to tell me, but didn't know how," Lorelai reasoned. "You know how sometimes, when you don't tell someone something right off the bat, it gets harder to say something the longer you wait?"

"I _do_ know. All right, fine. You might have a point there. But, what if the culinary school he went to was really important to you?" Rory persisted, through her own guilt.

"Why would a culinary school be important to me?"

"Well—Sookie went to the same one, so they have that in common. And Sookie is important to you, so. . . "

"All right, well, that still doesn't make sense. It doesn't have anything to do with us and it might make him better at his job, right?"

"Probably. But what if the article also implied that he was single?"

"Oh, well _then_ I'd be mad."

"Thank you."

"Now, with all this talk of culinary school, I'm hungry. Want to go to the diner? We can get Cesar to cook us anything we want and make him paranoid with the possibility of us reporting back to Luke."

"Sure, let's go," Rory answered as they stood up and walked out the front door. It was nice out, so they walked to town.

"So, were we talking about your fake New York boyfriend back there?" Lorelai asked.

"I don't have a fake boyfriend and yes," Rory answered. "I do want you to meet him sometime. But we might have messed everything up. We both said some things . . . hurtful things. Mean, even."

"Well, if things don't work out with that guy, there're always the men Mom brings around for you. Like last night's guy. I know we're supposed to hate him, but he wasn't _all_ bad."

Rory looked at Lorelai sharply. "What? _Tristan_?"

"Yeah. I talked to him again, when you weren't around."

"You did? He didn't tell me that—when we were going back to Manhattan."

"Too busy catching up?"

"Oh, no. We . . . argued, mostly. Which is pretty typical for us."

"Well, I did talk to him again—just for a little while. Usually the guys Mom introduces you to are all well-mannered and pretentious, or they're busy sucking up."

"I'm pretty sure Tristan is capable of those things too," Rory said. "But wait. Was _he_ not nice to you?"

"Oh, he was nice, he just wasn't pretending like he wanted to be there. If he was, he was doing a terrible job. As you know, I can sympathize with not wanting to be under that roof."

"Yeah, you can. So, what? You bonded over that?"

"A little. It seemed like he wanted to be there less than me, so I told him about the good escape routes. I think scaling the wall from the second floor tempted him—which makes sense, he probably likes a little adventure in his life," Lorelai explained. "Anyway, he said sorry about the whole Mary thing and that he liked you in high school. Even though he usually went for the sadder-but-wiser-girl."

"The what?"

"You know—'I smile, I grin, when the gal with a touch of sin walks in'. You weren't that kind of girl, so it makes sense. Professor Hill fell for the smart girl with all the books."

"Harold Hill was a slimy con man—a liar," Rory argued. "Marian the librarian was tired of him trying to cozy up to her and did some research to find all about his deception."

"Yes, but she didn't tell anyone. She kept his secret to herself."

"What?" Rory said incredulously. Was her mother clairvoyant? She wondered.

"Yeah, because he wasn't really so bad and she liked him by then."

"So, what, you're telling me _Tristan_ might not be a bad guy?"

"Well, from what I understand, he catches the bad guys now. So, maybe. Everybody grows up," Lorelai reasoned. "But hey, I'll still root for the alleged New York guy, if that's who you want to be with."

"I do. But, I'll uh, keep in mind what you said about Tristan."

"Sure, as a viable second option if things don't work out," Lorelai said offhandedly, Rory cringed at her phraseology.

"I can't believe you're saying this."

"_I_ can't believe Mom introduced you to Hercule Poirot," Lorelai said with a shake of her head. "Did he show you his gun last night?"

"What?" Rory exclaimed in horror.

"Last night, he said he had a gun, did you get to see it?"

"Um, yeah. I uh . . . caught a glimpse," Rory said hastily as she looked away and bit her lip, hoping she wasn't blushing.


	5. Set Me Free

**Title**: Libertad

**Chapter ****5**: Set Me Free

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

_You see, if you don't take money, they can't tell you what to do, kid. ... Money's the cheapest thing. Liberty, freedom is the most expensive__. –Bill Cunningham_

**Set Me Free**

"Let's be safe out there, everyone," Captain Meyer said, bringing the Monday morning briefing to a close.

Tristan turned around in his swivel chair and dropped a canary yellow legal pad on his desk. He took a sip of the bad precinct coffee and looked across the desks to his partner.

"Did you wake up with a really big headache yesterday?" Stevenson asked.

"Kind of," Tristan answered.

"Good, it wasn't just me then," Mark said. "You yammered on a lot more than I thought you would Saturday."

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did. I was there. I thought you'd get really quiet when you drink. But I was wrong. You talked my ear off."

"About what?" Tristan asked, not buying it.

"Oh, nothing I didn't already know," Mark said reassuringly. "So, we should be able to go talk to Patrick Braun later today. After the other detectives finish with him."

"Sounds like a blast." Tristan looked over to a dry erase board that was hanging on a wall not too far from them. It had a timeline of the murders they were investigating and a map of Manhattan next to it with four thumb tacks marking the crime scenes. "There has to be something big picture we're missing here," he commented.

"Yeah, but what? We can't find a mutual person that all the victims knew."

"Let's go through everyone's bank statements," Tristan suggested. "Maybe they've been spending money on the same thing or at the same place."

"All right," Mark agreed, taking out a file folder and opening it.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Rory was at her desk later that morning, when James walked over. "Gilmore, did you ever follow up on that homicide from Friday night that you covered?"

"No, not yet," she answered.

"Are you going to find out if something's happened with it? Or are you going to be difficult today?"

"No. I'll, uh, make a call. I'll do it now," she told him. He nodded and walked away. She looked at her phone timidly before picking it up. She dialed and nervously waited.

"DuGrey," Tristan answered after three rings.

"Hi, it's Rory. Can you tell me what happened with that homicide from the other night . . . Friday night?"

"The primary detectives found the boyfriend," Tristan answered.

Rory couldn't discern the tone of his voice. He sounded neither happy nor mad to hear from her.

"The neighbors said he and his girlfriend were in a shouting match," she said.

"Yeah, apparently they were arguing pretty loud."

"So did they arrest him?"

"Yes, Saturday. He was at his home. His name is Patrick Braun."

"Do you think he's the guy you're looking for?"

"Don't know yet," he answered. "We haven't talked to him. We should be able to today."

"Okay. Well, that's all I needed," Rory said. A couple beats ticked by in silence. "Thanks."

She hung up the phone and sighed. She rubbed her face in her hands and looked at her computer for a moment before opening a blank document and getting down to work. It didn't take long to write up an update. She printed the article before returning to what she'd been working on before. She was still using the paper's database to search for a J. Warner. There were so many, it was taking her a while to narrow the list down. It would help if she knew if she was looking for a man or a woman. But she didn't.

James came over to her desk again a little while later. "What did you do over the weekend?" he asked her with furrowed brows.

"I went to Connecticut to see my mom."

"Did you pull a _Thelma and Louise_?"

"By driving off a cliff? No."

"Are you sure you didn't break any laws?"

"I'm positive. Why?"

"Someone's asking for you at the front desk. Looks like the police."

Rory looked up sharply at her editor. "It does?"

"Mm-hmm. You better go."

Rory did as she was told. She got up and walked by the other desks in the newsroom until she reached the reception desk in the front lobby. Tristan was there, waiting for her. He wasn't wearing a suit jacket over his navy shirt, so his badge and gun didn't have anything to hide behind. No wonder James thought the police were after her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked with knit brows.

"I need to talk to you," he told her, taking her by the wrist and leading her out to the stairwell. He let her go and frowned down at her. "What the hell was that about?"

"What was what about?"

"That phone call."

"I had to find out what happened, so I called you."

"So, what, that's it? I'm demoted back down source only?"

"What?"

"We're just going back to business as usual?"

"What did you want me to say? It's Monday morning and I'm working. _You_ are supposed to be working. So I did my job and let you do yours."

"And ignore everything else that's going on with us?"

"While we're at work? Yes. I don't know what else you expected me to say when I called you."

"Well let me get out of the way, if work is all you care about," he said sarcastically.

"Hey," she said, grabbing his arm to stop him. "I couldn't get into it over the phone. I don't even know if you're still mad at me. I know you have the right to be."

"You're damned right I do."

"Well so do I," she said hotly. "I may have said some terrible things, but so did you."

"You don't have to tell me that. I can remember how much stupid shit I said," he retorted. "I just want to know if you actually _believe_ what you said."

"Which part?"

"You know which part—the thing you said about us."

Rory shook her head and looked down at her feet. "No," she said sorrowfully.

"Then why did you say it?"

She looked back at him defiantly. "Because I was mad after I read that stupid thing in the _Post._ It didn't sound like you have a girlfriend. So I didn't _feel_ like one. All of a sudden I was just some ambitious reporter who does what—or who— she has to, to get ahead. And I felt pretty stupid, being the last one to know about it."

"That is an absolute riot."

"Well when I read your profile, you sounded pretty unattached," she said vehemently. "Nothing about it screamed committed relationship."

"Oh, but Friday night at your grandparents' did? I felt like your dirty little secret."

"Do you know why I don't tell everyone I know that I date you?"

"Because—"

"Don't say anything about me being embarrassed or ashamed, because you're wrong," Rory interrupted.

"Fine, how about because it isn't anyone else's business?"

"Partly. But it's mostly because you are a source and I don't want anyone to think you're a career move."

"_You_ know that isn't true. And _I_ know it," he said heatedly. "Or at least I thought I knew it. Who cares what everyone else thinks?"

Rory sighed and looked out the window. Her gaze settled on the cars passing down on the street. "This seemed like a good idea at the time, but it isn't working out anymore."

Tristan scoffed. "Figures," he said with a glower. "Frankly, you stuck around longer than I expected you to. I'll come over after work to get my stuff."

"What stuff?" Rory asked in confusion, looking back up at him.

"My stuff that's at your apartment."

"Why are you going to do that?"

"Because you're breaking up with me."

"No I'm not."

"You aren't?"

"No."

"Are you sure? I probably deserve it. I'm pretty sure I'm more trouble than I'm worth."

"Yes I'm sure. You were right when you said I was jealous. I didn't want to think about all the attention you'd get from other girls."

"I never thought I'd see that day."

"Neither did I. You might be a major headache, but you're _my_ headache."

"Um, thank you?" he said, bemused. "What were you talking about then?"

"Us—being so hush-hush. It had merits at first. But now it's just blowing up in our faces."

"Not any more than the _Post_ list is blowing up in _my_ face."

"Then why did you do it?"

"I didn't do it for me, that's for sure. I did it for you."

"What? That doesn't even make sense."

"Don't you know what I _do_ for a living?" he asked, sounding frustrated with her. He was about to elaborate, when his cell phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket to answer. "DuGrey . . . I had to do something. . . Okay, I'll be there in ten minutes." He hung up the phone. "I have to go. We aren't finished here," he said, turning to go.

Rory grabbed his arm and pulled him back to kiss him. "I know we aren't."

He nodded once and she let his arm go.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

A little while later, Tristan and Mark were walking down the hall of a hospital.

"The guy had a bunch of priors," Mark commented. "So he was already in the system."

"It sure was nice of him to leave so many fingerprints at the crime scene."

"Yeah, and all that blood."

They showed their badges to the guard at the door before entering the room. They approached the man who was lying in the bed. His midsection was bandaged from the stab wound he had received.

"Patrick, we're Detectives DuGrey and Stevenson. Can you tell us your version of what happened Friday night?"

"Can't you just talk to those other detectives who were questioning me earlier?" the man asked with a pained expression.

"No," Stevenson answered. "We're working on some other homicide cases and need to ask you some questions of our own. So, Friday night?"

"I got into a domestic dispute with my ex-girlfriend."

"I'll say. But back up, what happened before that?"

"I talked to Christine on the phone. She kept saying she didn't want to be with me anymore. I tried to get her to come to her senses, but she kept saying no. So I wanted to know if there was someone else, but she wouldn't say. She made some excuse and hung up."

"Were you mad?"

"Yes I was mad. I thought it would be harder for her to say no to me in person. So I went over there."

"Did she let you in when you got there?" Tristan asked.

"Not really."

"Muscled your way in, then, huh?"

"I guess you could say that. We started arguing again. And I decided, if she wasn't going to be with me, then she wasn't going to be with anyone. So I went into the kitchen and got a knife. I was just going to threaten her. But she fought back and got the knife away."

"So you strangled her instead," Mark finished for him.

"Yeah. I remembered hearing something about people getting strangled lately. I thought I could make it look like that guy did it."

"No one was stabbed in the others."

"Well, Christine stabbed me when I had my hands around her neck."

"Where were you last week Monday, in the morning?" Tristan asked.

"At work. The other detectives have my employment information."

"What about Thursday night, the week before last?"

"Thursday's my poker night with my buddies. They'll all tell you I was there."

"And how about the Wednesday before that?"

"I was home. Alone."

"We'll let you know if we need anything else."

The detectives walked out of the room then. "Too bad he's not our guy," Mark commented. "People are going to want to see us make an arrest for all the strangulations."

"Well, the anxious public will just have to wait. We aren't going to pin them on the wrong person just to make it look like we're doing something."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Later that afternoon, Rory was at her desk, still looking at all the people in Manhattan named J. Warner. It was more than impossible. It was completely useless. It would help if she knew whether the first name belonged to a man or a woman. She picked her phone up and dialed.

"Hello?" Alex answered.

"Hi, it's Veronica More."

"Oh hi. What can I do for you today?"

"Well, I was wondering if you can remember more about that accountant's desk you saw at McHill Books. The empty one. Do you remember seeing anything that would indicate whether a man or a woman sits there?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know, anything handwritten. Sometimes guys write sloppier than girls."

"Gee thanks, but no. I can't remember anything."

"How about pictures? Any framed photographs?"

"I don't think so," Alex answered. "Hey, we could go there again."

"I already wrote an article about college expenses. I don't think I could go in for an interview again."

"That's okay, I know where to go. I'll just pretend to deliver something again. I'll try to find out the name of the person who sits at that desk."

"I'm game if that's what you want to do."

"Sure, I can meet you there. When are you free?"

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Not long after their phone conversation, Rory was waiting for Alex outside McHill Books. He was inside the building, making his 'delivery'. He was actually the one to come up with the plan this time. It was pretty simple. After another ten minutes went by, Alex exited the building and walked over to Rory. He was wearing the same polo shirt and khakis he had worn when they infiltrated the building the previous week.

"The desk was empty again, but remember Janet?" he asked. "The one I gave the flowers to when we were here last time?"

"Yeah, did you talk to her again?"

"Yes. I asked her who sat in the other cubicle, because my delivery might be for them. And she said that John sits there. She said he was at a meeting."

"Excellent. Did she say anything else?"

"When I said I had chocolates for him, she said someone must know he's been a little stressed out lately."

"Lately? Did she say how long?"

"A week or two. But she didn't know what's been bothering him. Anyway, I left the box on John's desk and I took a look again. There was a to-do list. I took a picture of it," Alex said, as he took his cell phone out of his pocket to show Rory.

"Pick up dry cleaning and groceries," Rory read, "and call Campus View Apartments."

"That sounds familiar. I think they might be close to City College," Alex said. "Probably off-campus, but not too far."

"Do you think any non-college kids live there?" she asked, brows furrowed.

"I'm not sure. I don't know anyone who lives there. I'll ask around, though."

"Sounds good," Rory said.

She was going to have to get this kid a summer internship at the paper for all the help he was providing her.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Rory was in the newsroom later that afternoon, it was time to leave for the day, but she really wanted to call Aaron Wilson's girlfriend again to see if he told her anything else about what he saw and overheard after his interview. She had spent the rest of her day trying to find the right John Warner. Knowing his first name definitely narrowed the list down. However, none of them had a Campus View Apartment address. She'd have to make a call to their leasing office. She decided to leave both calls for tomorrow.

She put on her jacket and walked out of the newsroom. When she was on the ground floor, she walked outside and caught a cab. It was when she was in the yellow car that her cell phone buzzed from inside her purse. It had a familiar ring, one that she wasn't sure she'd hear today. She took it out to answer.

"Hello?"

"Hi, how are you?" Tristan asked in a somewhat awkwardly formal tone.

"I'm fine, how are you?"

"Fine. You never called to ask for an update on the other strangulations."

"Oh, yeah. I was occupied with other stuff today," she answered, not getting into the details of creeping into a business for a second time.

"I just thought I'd let you know," he said.

"Okay, was there any kind of big break in the investigations?"

"No."

"Do you have any new suspects?"

"No."

"Did you get to talk with Patrick Braun?"

"Yes, but he has alibis for the other murders."

"Oh. Have any of your previous suspects been crossed off your list?"

"The Sloan kid. He had an alibi for the murders and his prints didn't match the ones found at the crime scenes. So it wasn't him in the videos. And Norman Greene has a rock solid alibi for the last homicide."

"Okay . . . Is there anything else?" she asked with a frown. This phone call didn't seem to have much of a purpose.

"No, not really," he answered. Rory listened closely as a couple seconds ticked away in silence. She was under the impression that he perhaps _did_ have something else he wanted to say, but after a couple more seconds he just said, "I should let you go. See you later?"

"Sure," she said before they both hung up.

Rory wasn't sure if 'see you later' meant they would be going to lunch tomorrow or not. It would be Tuesday, so she usually met up with him. Plus, when he came to the newsroom earlier, he'd said they weren't finished talking. Did that mean he still wanted her to come? She wasn't sure. 'See you later' wasn't specific enough. She was in the middle of these musings when her phone rang again.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Hey, how are you?" Lorelai asked. "I just wanted to check on you, see how things are."

"Things are fine. Better. Or in the process of getting better—I think. Maybe."

"That's good, potentially. I wanted to tell you about an idea I had."

"Uh-oh."

"Hey now, just listen. I was thinking about talking Luke into coming to Manhattan next month."

"Really?"

"Yeah, we haven't come down to visit you in a while. We should go down to Fifth Avenue and look in the window at Tiffany's like Audrey Hepburn does in the movie."

"Okay, we can do that. But how are you going to talk Luke into coming? He hates Manhattan."

"I know, I'll have to persuade him. I'm usually successful if I'm persistent enough. I thought that you could get us all _Producers_ tickets. You can invite your boyfriend and we can finally meet him."

"Uh, actually, about that," Rory started, feeling nervous.

"I knew it. You're finally coming clean."

"What?"

"About your make-believe boyfriend. I knew the day would come."

"No, that's not it, but you're close—kind of. I wanted to tell you something."

"Okay," Lorelai said. "Wait just a second . . . Uh-oh."

"What is it?"

"Sam's outside and he's eyeing the dirt pretty hungrily."

"Did you forget to feed him?"

"No, I'm insulted that you would even ask. Did I ever forget to feed _you_?"

"No. Although, Luke would question the nutritional value of the food."

"That's a different argument. I better get out there and stop him."

"Oh, okay."

"Hey, I'll talk to you later."

"All right, bye Mom," Rory said before hanging up. Well, that didn't go quite right, she thought as she paid the cab driver and got out of the car.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

The next morning, Rory got up like usual and went to the kitchen to get a pot of coffee started before going to the bathroom to get ready. After she was showered and dressed, she returned to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. She turned and gasped in surprise when she looked out the kitchen window. Tristan was out on her fire escape, sitting on the steps that led upstairs. She poured a second cup of coffee and walked over to the window that led outside. She opened it and climbed out to join him.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked.

"I wanted to talk to you."

"Did you . . . climb up here?" she asked, looking over the railing of the fire escape. He nodded in response. "My mom was right about you," she muttered.

"Hmm?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. You could have come to the door."

"You didn't answer when I hit the buzzer downstairs. I wasn't sure if you were awake yet."

"I was just in the shower," she said, before handing him the second steaming cup.

"Thanks," he said, taking it from her.

"You're welcome." They each took a sip before Rory spoke again. "So, what do you want to talk about?"

"Can I take you to lunch today?"

"Today's Tuesday, so it's already a given." At least it was after she'd woken up and decided to show up at the precinct at lunch time.

He glanced at her and nodded. "I'll pick you up from work."

"You don't have to, I can meet you like usual."

"I'll pick you up," he repeated. "Our usual isn't working out anymore."

"Oh, okay."

Tristan sighed resignedly. "I'll tell you about Yale."

"You don't have to talk about it. If you don't want to."

"I know I don't—at least with other people. But I should tell _you_."

"All right, well, it's a date then."

They finished their coffee and Rory sat the empty cups on the windowsill as Tristan stood.

"I should get going," he said, looking down at her.

He looked at her lips and tilted his head towards her. She met him halfway to kiss him. She was going to pull away, but he put his hands at her hips and kept her close. It was a few moments later that he stopped. "I do need to go," he said, though he started kissing her neck after he said it.

"Stay a little longer." She ran her fingers through his short hair and she kissed the side of his face. She pressed her body up close to his. "I know you want to stay."

"Sure I do. I'm the guy," he agreed before capturing her lips again.

"You shouldn't leave until we make up."

"Should make up in a bed," Tristan muttered huskily, kissing her on the lips again.

"That can be arranged, call in sick." Her hands roamed over his muscular chest, then back around his neck.

"Hey," he said softly, pulling away.

"What?"

"I'm sorry . . . about Friday night. Back at my place."

"I was there too."

"Yeah, but when I act like a jerk, it's usually on purpose."

"I wasn't especially nice either."

"Your mean isn't all that mean. Mine is more deliberate."

"Fine, let's call it even and chalk it up to a really bad week."

"Deal. Now, I really have to go. I'll see you later." He kissed her one more time and started down the metal steps.

"You can go through my apartment," Rory offered, pointing at the open window.

"If I go through there I'll pass the couch and the hallway that leads to the bedroom—"

"And walk through the kitchen," she added.

He nodded and a grinned. "I'm just trying to get to work on time."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

"All right, thanks," Mark said into his phone before hanging it up. He looked across the desks to Tristan. "It's official, Braun isn't our guy."

"Tell me something I don't know," Tristan said as he stared at their crime scene labeled map of Manhattan.

Just then, a young woman came over to their work area. She was a petite blonde and looked like she was in college. She looked from Mark to Tristan and asked, "Are you the detectives working on Lance Sooner's murder?"

"Yes," both men answered.

"I live in on the same floor as him in the dorm and I may have seen something that day. I wasn't sure if I should say anything at first."

"What is it?" Stevenson asked, grabbing a notebook and a pen.

"Well, the day Lance was killed—before someone found him—I saw a guy walking down the hall. I'd never seen him before."

"Can you describe him?" Tristan asked.

"He was tall, about a head taller than me. He had on a blue shirt and khaki shorts. And he had messy brown hair. Then again, it might have been dirty blonde. It was from a distance."

"But you don't think it was someone from your dorm?"

"_I've_ never seen him before. And the building isn't that big. I just remembered a couple days ago. I didn't really think anything of it at the time, I didn't know someone killed Lance."

"Can you remember what time it was that you saw him?" Mark asked.

"It was about ten twenty. I was leaving for my ten thirty class."

"Did you pass Lance's room?"

"Yeah. The door was open, not all the way, just a little. I didn't do much more than glance inside. I didn't see Lance on the floor."

"Did the other guy see you?"

"No. He was a little bit farther down the hallway. I went out the same main entrance as him—unless he went out a back exit. When I got outside, I didn't see where he'd gone. But I wasn't really looking, either."

"Let's take a look at the surveillance videos from the science building and the library," Tristan said. "You might recognize him."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

It was late morning and Rory was working at her desk, yet again trying to identify the correct John Warner, when one of the young interns, Kyle, came over to deliver a message.

"Someone's here to take you to lunch," he said. "Says he's your boyfriend."

"But today's Tuesday," Marie argued without looking away from her computer screen.

"Your point?" Rory asked.

"Isn't today 'meet with your source' day?" Marie asked, using air quotes.

"So?"

She looked from Rory to Kyle. "Does her boyfriend look like a cop, by any chance?"

"Judging by the gun, I'm going with yes," he answered.

"That's what I thought."

"Then why did you ask?" Rory inquired.

"I like to know, rather than assume."

"A commendable trait for a journalist."

"Yeah, I'm a diamond in the rough."

Rory walked out of the newsroom to the lobby. She found Tristan leaning against the reception desk, his legs crossed at his ankles. The sleeves of his forest green shirt were already rolled up to his elbows for the day.

"Hey," he said in greeting, giving her a quick kiss and taking her by the hand. He led her to the elevator and outside—less aggressively than the day before—and started down the sidewalk. "Is there someplace close where we can eat?" he asked.

"Sure, what do you feel like?"

He shrugged. "Whatever."

"Indian food it is then," she said, pulling him in the right direction.

She led him to a restaurant not too far from the _Daily News_. They went in and were seated without having to wait.

After they'd placed their lunch orders, Tristan exhaled heavily. "All right. Yale. Let's dive right in."

"I'm all ears."

"I went because that's what I was supposed to do. I'm sure you know that my father went there."

"Yes."

"I had to. That was how I was going to get my trust fund, so that's what I did. I actually didn't mind. It was a chance to show that I could be the good son—do the right thing," Tristan explained. "Anyway, I was taking criminal law classes and I started to miss the criminal justice classes that I took at Harvard."

"What did you miss about them?" Rory asked.

Tristan cocked a brow at her reporter question. "The stuff about looking for evidence and finding the truth to solve the crime. So, I had this half-baked idea and I went to my dad's house. I told him I was considering becoming a cop instead of a lawyer. I didn't even say I was going to do it for sure. I just said I was _thinking_ about it. I hadn't made a final decision."

He paused when their food arrived and Rory prompted him. "He didn't like your idea?"

Tristan shook his head as they started to eat. "Not even a little. He said running around playing cops and robbers was a ridiculous idea. It wasn't a respectable profession and I wouldn't make any money. So I said the money wouldn't matter, because I would still finish law school and get my trust fund, since that was the deal. But he said he wouldn't pay for the rest of Yale if I was going to waste it. When I asked how I was supposed to get my trust fund if I didn't finish school, he said it wouldn't matter even if I _did_ finish school anymore. If I didn't become a lawyer, he'd just change the terms again. To ensure my cooperation."

"And you decided not to cooperate?"

"Correct. I had a kind of out of body experience. After I left, I went to my grandfather's house and told him about it. I said I was going to quit law school, since it wasn't going to matter. But he told me I _would_ finish. I was probably being overly dramatic when I said he wouldn't have supported my decision. But he said I should get the degree and pass the bar in case I decided to be a lawyer in the end. And in the mean time, he'd try to change my dad's mind."

"You said your grandpa loaned you money for school."

"Yeah. I'm still paying him back—it was in the middle of my second year. So I owe him for the third year. Ivy League schools are freaking expensive."

"They are. If my dad hadn't inherited a large sum of money when I was at Yale, I'd still be paying _my_ grandparents back," Rory explained. "It's nice to not be bound by the strings."

"Strings?"

"Yeah, the strings that come when you ask a favor. Especially when it's a monetary favor."

"Ah. That's how Grandpa gets me to go to Hartford, by reminding me how he was there for me. I'm sure there would have been strings with my dad too, even if I'd become a lawyer. He would have told me what kind of law to practice and where."

"Would you have practiced criminal law?"

Tristan shrugged. "Probably. Maybe I would have worked for the district attorney's office. I don't think I could work for the defense—unless I was really sure the client was innocent."

"That's why you and Jacobs don't get along," Rory stated with a half smile. "You went to an Ivy League law school and you could have his job. He knows, doesn't he?"

"He might know."

"He knows. He's intimidated by you and you love it."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"Just last week you made a thinly veiled threat to do his job _for_ him. If that's not an intimidation tactic, I don't know what is."

"Oh, well, I might have some fun with it. I can be a real jerk when I want to be."

"How did he find out?"

"When I started at the twenty-first precinct last fall, I went up to his office to introduce myself. I commented on the diplomas on his wall. I sounded impressed. I thought I'd try to get off to a good start with him. But then he asked if I joined the academy right out of high school."

"Uh-oh. Did you clear that one up for him?"

"Yup. But I only said I went to Harvard. That shut him up, so I waited until he needed my signature for something. I signed Esq. after my name and made sure he saw. He looked at me all confused. So I casually mentioned that I spent a few years at Yale, to see what they knew, after I got my bachelor's degree. The look on his face was priceless," Tristan said with a smile.

"So, you've been a detective for like what, five minutes?"

He grinned at her. "Give or take. I might have done a little sweet talking."

"Mm-hmm. You know, you don't do as good of a job hiding your law degree as you think you do."

"I do a decent job."

"You reference court cases and rattle off legal jargon like it's common knowledge. And I know you have legal books on your shelves."

"I wasn't exactly hiding it from _you_. Since you knew."

"You still try to hide it, a little. Like when you get mail from the American Bar Association, you try not to let me see it."

"You go through my mail?"

"No, but I've picked up your newspaper when it was on top of your other mail."

"And you looked the other way while I put it somewhere else."

"Yeah."

"How crazy were you going, wondering why I never talk about it?"

"Moderately crazy. But I didn't mind keeping your secret. We had a pretty good Professor Hill and Marian the librarian routine going on."

He nodded in agreement. "I was perfectly happy keeping it that way. I was never impressed that you knew, by the way."

"Not even a little?"

"No."

"What if I wasn't so clever, were you really going to let me find out from a newspaper?"

"That's irrelevant. You are clever. I knew you'd find out as soon as you said _you_ went to Yale. I was a little afraid you were going to call me out on the spot."

"No, you've never given off much of a Yale vibe."

"I do my best. I was impressed that you figured out that I didn't like talking about it. How _did_ you figure that out?"

Rory shrugged. "You just sounded apprehensive at the idea of me bringing it up. And since you hadn't mentioned it before, I thought there might be a reason. So I gave you an out."

"And I took it."

"I assumed it had something to do with your dad, since you'd already said you guys don't really talk."

"You were right. You know, I used to watch him in court sometimes. He _is_ a good attorney. Plus, the guy definitely knows how to effectively punish a person," Tristan admitted. "There was a perfectly good chance that I would have become a lawyer. I have this bad feeling that I'm a cop only because my dad didn't want me to be."

"Sure. My mom has the same disorder. Her case is pretty severe."

"What?"

"Oppositional disorder. Your parents tell you not to do something, so you want to do it. They say yes, you say no."

"Oh, I guess I do have that. I mean, I was just playing with the idea. I thought it would be more exciting. And I went through with it to be rebellious. Because of . . . my disorder. I feel pretty stupid about it. Other people have much better reasons for entering law enforcement."

"Don't worry about it, you aren't stupid. You _are_ incredibly stubborn," Rory said. "In fact, you are now the most stubborn person I've ever met. And that's saying a lot, my mother is Lorelai Gilmore. You don't get much more stubborn than that."

"That's kind of why I don't tell people about Yale. I don't want anyone to ask me why I chose to be a cop instead of a lawyer. The answer is a little idiotic. I don't want anyone to judge me for it. I could make six figures a year and sit in an office with a nice view—I had a couple offers. Even the D.A. tries to lure me in once in a while."

"Don't worry about what your dad did or didn't want you to do. You like your job."

"Yeah. And it's not like the law degree hasn't come in handy. It made the detective examinations pretty easy. And it helps to know the law when enforcing it. The knowledge is transferrable."

"See, it wasn't a waste."

"Not entirely. I'm still a servant of the state, just in a different capacity."

"And the prosecutor wouldn't have criminals to put on trial if you didn't find them first."

He gave her a small smile. "You've always been good at that."

"Good at what?"

"Saying things that make it sound like I chose the better job. Like it's your way of telling me it's okay that I didn't become a lawyer."

"You got that?"

"Yeah, I got that."

"Good, that's why I say those things. You really _can_ read between the lines."

"You know," he started. "Sometimes I think about how I _could_ be the prosecutor."

"I know you could. You're every bit as qualified."

"Yeah, but sometimes I _want_ to do it. I don't know if it would be to prove to myself and everyone that I _can_, or because I _do_ like the law. But I feel like if I do—go to court—my dad will think that I'm giving in. And I'm not. That's the real reason I didn't want to finish Yale."

"You didn't want him to think you were graduating because of him or your trust fund?"

"Pretty much."

"So," she said with a smile, "does this mean you don't actually hate Yale?"

"I never said I hated it. I have merely given several reasons why Harvard is superior. Then you tell me why Yale is better. It's what we do, it's our thing."

"I suppose."

"You have to admit, attending both kind of makes me an authority on the subject," he said with a smirk. "How long did it take you?"

"To do what?"

"To find me out."

"About a week. You know how there was an article about you going to Harvard? There was follow up after you graduated and it said you were accepted to Yale Law School. I read it a few dozen times, thinking it had to be a misprint, because certainly you would have mentioned a big detail such as _Yale_. Then I thought, maybe it wasn't a misprint. Maybe you just changed your mind before you started."

"But you couldn't just leave it at that."

"I tried at first. But after a few days I was going crazy. And there was no reason when all I had to do was make a quick call to the registrar's office to ask if you were an alumnus. And then check the directory of the American Bar Association."

"Did you stop there?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"Of course not. I know how to beat a dead horse."

"Let me guess, the _Yale Law Journal_?"

"Yes!" she said with a proud smile.

"Don't get too excited. I wasn't running the place or anything."

"I know, but I read the articles you wrote. I didn't understand it all without a legal dictionary, but you sounded so smart."

"So, that's what finally attracted you? I was really hoping it was my badassness."

She smiled. "It was a combination."

"Good," Tristan said. "I didn't really know that you dropped out. I was just guessing."

"How could you possibly guess something like that?"

"I was bored one day, so I typed your name into the system. Just to see what would come up. After your arrest you worked at the DAR. And I remembered what you said about doing a few hundred hours of community service. It didn't seem like there'd be much time left to be a full time student. Plus, the commute from Hartford would have taken time."

"I lived with my grandparents for a few months."

"I just came up with a theory based off the facts."

"Nice work, Detective. You were spot on."

"Yeah, well, I felt guilty about snooping. But I justified it by telling myself you did the same thing. Anything I looked up beyond that was probably crossing the line."

They were finished eating at this point. The waitress came by with the bill and Tristan pulled out a debit card out of his wallet to pay. Then he took Rory's hand and pulled her out of the booth. He led her out of the restaurant and down the sidewalk.

"So, what were you saying yesterday?" she asked, squinting in the sunlight.

"When?"

"Before you had to leave. Something about the _Post_ being for me. I didn't understand."

"I can argue with you about it until I'm blue in the face, but you were right. I came across as single—unattached. That's how I wanted it to sound."

"Why?" she asked with knit brows.

"The same reason you use a fake name."

"What do you mean?"

"Why don't you go by Rory Gilmore in the _Daily News_?"

"My grandparents, and my mom even, thought it would be safer not to. Since I write about crime. I don't have to tell _you_ that criminals aren't exactly the safest people in the world."

"No, they aren't. And sometimes they don't stay in jail—because of a slick lawyer or a technicality. You know who's often at the top of their enemy list?"

"The cops who put them there?"

"Yup, and-or the people they love. Which wasn't a problem for me until I moved to Manhattan." Rory knit her brows. What did he just say? She glanced at him quickly and then straight ahead again. He didn't seem to notice as he continued. "We'd make a nice pair to seek vengeance on, if given the opportunity."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"You never asked why I moved here."

Rory shrugged. "You said you were transferred."

"But you never asked why."

"Personnel get shuffled around fairly regularly. Sometimes cops are lazy. Not that you are."

"Well, I was transferred at my own request," Tristan explained. He was about to elaborate, but was interrupted by his phone. It had started to buzz from his pocket. He took it out to answer. "DuGrey . . . Are you screwing with me?" he asked with a frown. He rubbed his face in tired frustration. "Where? Fine, I'll see you there." He hung up and looked back over to Rory. "I have to go."

"Where?"

"City College. Or, close to it. Let's go," he said, leading her to his car.

When they got to it, Rory gave him a confused look after he opened the passenger side door for her. "Am I going somewhere?"

"Aren't you? You're probably going to get the same call that I did."

"True. I don't know why I asked." She climbed into the car before Tristan did the same and drove off.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Tristan made good time negotiating his way to Upper Manhattan, they arrived at the college campus after twenty minutes. However, he didn't stop until he was at an off-campus apartment complex. Rory read the sign at the entrance and her eyes widened.

"Campus View Apartments?" she asked, looking over at Tristan.

"Yeah," he answered as he parked and got out.

Rory had to walk fast to keep up with his longer strides. A familiar scene awaited them—emergency vehicles, crowds of people standing near the yellow crime scene tape. There were several apartment buildings in the complex, all four story brownstones. Tristan met up with Mark and they went inside the building.

Rory had already called James when they were en route. She was probably starting to freak him out, with her all-knowingness surrounding these murders. She thought about the to-do list that was on John Warner's desk. He either made a call or was still planning to make a call to this very apartment complex. She pulled out her phone and called Alex, to share the unbelievable news. He must have been in class though, because she had to leave a voice mail.

She considered going to the leasing office to inquire about Mr. Warner. Employees of the apartment complex were surely talking with the police right now. But someone might still be at the front desk. It was worth a shot. The other reporters were probably going to be staying as close to the crime scene and the authorities as possible. They were no doubt waiting on pins and needles for word that another student had been strangled. They might not think to go to talk to management just yet.

Rory looked around and followed the signs that directed her to the leasing office. She went in and saw that the front desk was unoccupied. So she rang the bell and waited. And waited. She gave the bell another ding and waited another ten minutes. She discreetly looked over the counter of the front desk to see if there was anything worth seeing. Like a phone message. But she didn't see anything. And with the security cameras watching, she wasn't about to snoop around.

So, she went back to the crime scene. It was a long time before the detectives came back outside. Mark must have come up the loser today in whatever method they used to decide who would talk with the press. He walked over to the crowd and Tristan stood off to the side. The reporters were standing at the ready, waiting not-too-patiently for the detective to address them. Rory was among them when her phone vibrated from inside her purse. There was a message from Tristan, telling her to follow him.

She looked over to where he was standing, but he wasn't there anymore. Instead, he was making his way down the sidewalk. She started to follow, not worried about the statement she'd miss. She'd get more information this way, anyway. Tristan didn't stop until he was at the end of the block and had turned the corner. When she caught up to him, she had a perplexed look on her face.

"Come on," he told her as he continued to walk.

"Where are we going?"

"Into the building."

"Which one?"

"The one with the crime scene."

Rory stopped in her tracks. "I can't go in there."

"Sure you can." He grabbed her arm to make her keep walking. "CSU already went through and the body's gone, in case you're feeling squeamish."

"That's not it. I'm a civilian. And you don't need people traipsing around, remember?"

"I just want a fresh set of eyes to take a look. Maybe you'll see something we missed."

"But—"

"No one will stop you, you're with me."

"Are you going to let those other reporters go in to take a look?" she persisted.

"Of course not. They're sharks."

"Well so am I."

"Sure. But you're a nice, trustable shark. The kind Disney and Pixar would make a movie about. Now come on."

He didn't stop until he was at the back of the brownstone where the crime scene was. No one at the front of the building could see them as they went through the back entrance. Tristan led Rory upstairs to a two bedroom apartment on the second floor. They entered and Rory took a look around. They were standing in the living room, which opened up to a small kitchen. There were a few pieces of mismatched furniture and a television with a DVD player and a couple video game consoles sitting next to it.

"The body was found sitting on the couch," Tristan said. "He had a video game controller near his hand, like it fell out, when the responding officers got here. CSU took it for prints."

"Who found him?"

"His roommate. They're both juniors at City College. Said he got home at one thirty and this guy—Scout McKenzie—was slumped over on the couch, not breathing. The medical examiner said he probably died a short time before his roommate came in and called 911."

"Were the victims strangled from the front or from behind?"

"The marks on their necks indicate someone came from behind," he answered. "They were all clean killings—no blood, no mess. Nothing was taken. That's why we knew Friday's guy wasn't who we were looking for. The crime scene looked a lot different. There was definitely a struggle with that one."

"So if the victims knew their killer, they probably wouldn't have expected to get strangled," Rory reasoned as she looked around.

"No, probably not." He jerked his head in the direction of two doors on the opposite side of the room. "The bedrooms are over there, if you want to look at a college boy's bedroom."

"You think I've never been in one before?" she asked with a raised brow.

"I'd _like_ to think that."

Rory went to take a peek in the bedrooms. They were both pretty messy—neither bed was made, clothes were strewn on the floor, and school books and papers were scattered around. One of the bedrooms had a laptop sitting on a desk, the computer from the victim's room was already removed.

"They'd never survive in military school," Tristan commented.

"Who are you guys going to talk to about this one?" she asked as she came back into the living room.

"We'll make the usual rounds. Parents, friends, teachers, girlfriend—she's first on the list. According to the roommate, they were on the outs. A couple of the neighbors saw her leaving earlier."

"But if it's the same person strangling all these people, what motive would the girlfriend have?"

Tristan shrugged. "What's the motive for any of them? And you're jumping the gun. The lab has the run the fingerprints from the apartment before we know whether or not it was the same person. Until then, we treat it like it isn't."

"Oh. Well in that case, maybe someone was playing the video game with Scout and was losing."

"You lose a lot when we play. Should I be worried?"

"No. But maybe they had a bet or something and the killer didn't have the money to pay up."

"The game was set to one player. But I guess someone could start a new game to make it look like it was one person. We'll check to see how far he was into the game. Any other ideas?"

Rory thought about John Warner's to-do list again. Was it a coincidence that he was going to contact this apartment complex? She wasn't sure. She probably shouldn't accuse anyone of anything without a reason to back it up. It might be a clue, but Tristan needed facts. She decided to sit on it for the time being. She'd do a little more research on it before she brought it up.

She shook her head. "Not really. Where did the victim's roommate go?"

"After we talked to him he said he'd stay with his uncle. He left a little while ago. You didn't see a kid come out of the building?"

"No. But we passed by a parking lot in the back. He might have a car."

"True," Tristan agreed as they walked out of the apartment.

They'd been in there for a while, so they took their chances and headed toward the front of the building. When they were back outside, a lot of the media had scattered, looking for any tenants of the complex or college students to give them an interview for their evening broadcast. Then again, forget the evening, that wouldn't be for hours. The local affiliates were probably interrupting the regular scheduled broadcast to bring this breaking news.

Rory's least favorite broadcast journalist was just finishing up with her live report. Wendy glanced around and shot Rory an incredulous look. She approached the pair with a scowl on her face as they ducked under the police tape.

"Exactly what does a girl have to do to get special privileges around here?" Rory rolled her eyes and did her best to ignore the question. Wendy addressed Tristan. "Surely you and I could arrange something. I'm not really into ménage a trois, but I could possibly be persuaded. "

Tristan frowned at the woman. "What? Arran—," he stopped mid-word and his eyes darted to Rory. Her lips were pursed in a grim line and her gaze was averted. He looked back at Wendy with a glare. "Mind your own damn business."

"I just—"

"You _just_ need to get the hell out of here," Tristan finished, jerking his head to the right. Not that he cared which way she went. As long as it was away. The woman unhappily complied and Tristan turned to Rory. "Is this the first time she's said something like that?"

"No."

"You could have told me about it."

Rory shrugged. "You don't have to fight my battles."

"You've fought mine," he impatiently reminded her.

"What if she complains to the department? You could get in trouble."

"That's for me to worry about. Don't let her pester you."

"I usually ignore her. With the one notable exception where I repeated the suggestion," Rory said shamefacedly.

"At least I know you didn't come up with the idea all on your own."

She turned to him with a serious expression. "Hey, I'm going to tell my mom the truth—about you and me."

"The whole truth?"

"And nothing but the truth," she said with a small smile. "I almost did last night, but my little brother was outside and my mom had to go stop him."

"From what? Walking into traffic?"

"No. From eating dirt."

Tristan smiled. "When you add a little water, it looks like chocolate."

Rory wrinkled her nose. "It still won't taste like it. Boys are weird."

"It's true, we are," he agreed. "Well, we have to go track down this kid's girlfriend. I'll see you later, Mary."

He grabbed her by the collar and pulled her closer to kiss her square on the mouth. She closed her eyes, as it lasted a beat longer than she expected. He released her and went to go find his partner. She turned and spotted Alex.

He closed the distance between them before glancing in the direction Tristan went and then back at Rory. He grinned. "I'm learning so much from you."

"Shut up. Unless you don't want to know the inside scoop."

Alex waved his hands in submission, so Rory brought him up to speed about the day's events.

When she was finished, Alex shook his head. "Hide your wife, hide your kids, and hide your husband," he said. "Do you want to come over to the newsroom again? See what we can dig up?"

"Sure."

"Maybe we should look at Facebook again. There could be some mutual friends who knew all the victims."

"Yeah, maybe," Rory agreed as they both set off down the sidewalk.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Later that evening, Rory was sitting at the island in her kitchen. She sprinkled some food into the fish bowl and watched the goldfish swim around for a moment before turning to her own dinner. She had a book out to read, but she glanced over at her cell phone and picked it up instead. She used the speed dial and waited patiently.

"Hello?"

"Luke, hi. It's Rory."

"Oh hi, Rory. How are you doing?"

"Fine. How's April?"

"She's great. She's really glad the semester is over."

"Mom said she'll be in Stars Hollow for a few weeks during summer."

"Yeah, and you should come by some time. I know she'd love to see you."

"Definitely. Hey, is Mom around?"

"She was, but Babette had some sort of crises. I didn't really ask about the details. But Lorelai went over to help sort things out."

"Oh, okay. Do you know when she'll be back?"

"Well, she's at the mercy of Babette, so who knows. Do you want me to give her a message?"

"That's okay. I'll just try again another time."

"All right, you're sure?"

"Yeah. I'll let you go, Luke."

"Okay, have a good night."

"Thanks, you too."

She ended the call and sighed. She was oh for two.


	6. Fall to Pieces

**Title**: Libertad

**Chapter ****6**: Fall to Pieces

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**A/N**: Here we are once again, at the penultimate chapter of the story.

_Criminal: A person with predatory instincts who has not sufficient capital to form a corporation. –Howard Scott_

**F****all to Pieces **

On Wednesday morning, Tristan and Mark's first stop was the home of Liz Smith's parents. She was the girlfriend of their latest strangulated victim, Scout McKenzie. The brick row house was in a neighborhood in Queens. Tristan parked in front of the house and they both got out and walked up the steps to the front door. Stevenson knocked and they waited a few minutes before the door swung open.

A young woman in her early twenties looked out at them. She still had on her pajamas—a pair of flannel pants and a t-shirt—and her strawberry blonde hair was mussed up from sleep. The early morning sunlight caused her to squint out at the men.

"Liz Smith?" Tristan asked.

"Yes."

Both men showed her their badges and she frowned. "We're Detectives DuGrey and Stevenson. We need to speak with you about your boyfriend."

"You mean _ex_-boyfriend," Liz said vehemently.

"All right, ex-boyfriend. Can we come in?"

"Sure," she answered, opening the door wider and moving out of the way for them. She gestured towards the living room. "Go have a seat. I'm just going to go change quick."

She disappeared up the stairs as the two men went to the living room. They both glanced around the room, framed family photos were hanging from the walls and were sitting on the lamp tables. It looked like Liz had a younger brother who was a few years younger than her. Mark took a seat on the couch and Tristan stood by the fire place, leaning against the mantle.

After about five minutes, Liz returned. She had changed into jeans and a shirt that could have been buttoned one more time. She had also taken the time to apply some eye make up and lip gloss. She entered the room and gave a friendly smile to the handsome men.

"So, Scout McKenzie," Mark started. "What can you tell us about him?"

"He's a jerk and I'm glad I'll never have to deal with him again," she said matter-of-factly.

"Can you expand on that?" Tristan asked.

"We've always been on-again, off-again."

"So you're off-again at the moment?"

"You could say that. Except this time, we aren't going to be on-again _ever_ again. Where are my manners? Would you guys like something to drink? My parents keep the kitchen really well stocked."

"No thanks," Tristan said. "Why did you come here to your parents yesterday?"

"I was really mad after the fight Scout and I had."

"What was it about?" Mark asked.

"Oh, the usual stuff. He's irresponsible and selfish. Just ask any of his friends, he probably owes them all money. And he's lazy. He could be getting good grades if he'd stop partying at night and playing video games all afternoon. I get so mad at him."

"This is an on-going argument you two have?" Mark asked.

"Yeah."

"Then why do you keep getting back together?" Tristan inquired.

"He usually apologizes within the week. But it won't work this time. I made it very clear that I'm not going back this time."

"How did you do that?"

"I didn't stay at my sorority house last night, for one thing."

"We noticed that yesterday, actually. It seemed suspicious," Tristan said.

"And I called one of my friends at the house," Liz continued, "to get all of his stuff together to take back to him."

"Liz, do you know why we're here?" Mark asked, having a good idea what the answer would be.

She shrugged. "No. I guess Scout did something stupid. Did he knock off a bank or something?"

"No. He's dead," Tristan answered. "Someone killed him. And it looks like you were the last one to see him."

Liz stared at Tristan in shock before turning to Mark. "What?"

"He was strangled yesterday, sometime before his roommate got home from class."

"Oh my God."

"Do you know anything about that?"

"No, of course not."

"You just said you made sure you two wouldn't be on-again any more."

"But I didn't _strangle_ him!"

"Do you know anyone who would?" Stevenson asked.

"No. I don't think so. Who would strangle someone?"

"Have you heard about the other murders that have occurred on and near City College?" Tristan asked.

"Yeah. Do you think it's the same person who's doing this?"

"It's probable. But we aren't sure yet if it was that person who killed Scout. We're having his apartment checked for fingerprints. Do you know of anyone who had a problem with him?"

"He doesn't always get along with his roommate, but who does? And some of his friends get impatient with him when he owes them money."

"Did he know Aaron Wilson?" Mark asked.

"No, I don't think so."

"What about Lance Sooner?"

"No."

"What about you?"

"What _about_ me?"

"Did you know either of them?"

"No, I'd never even heard of them until last week when they died."

"Walk us through what happened yesterday when you were at Scout's apartment," Mark said.

"I went over to his place after my class."

"What time was it?"

"A little after twelve thirty. I was hungry, so I went to his kitchen, but there wasn't any food. I asked him why he didn't go buy some and he said he didn't have any money. And we got into a big argument about it. It wasn't just about the empty kitchen and that he doesn't have money. It's an old argument, the same one we always we have. I was mad, so I said I didn't want to see him any more, that we were finished. And I left."

"Did you see anyone on their way to his apartment when you were leaving?"

"No."

"Did you come straight here?"

"Yes. I figured if he went looking for me, he'd only look on campus, at least at first."

"All right, well, we're still going to need you to come down to the precinct to get your fingerprints."

"Fine."

"Would you allow us to have a look around your bedroom here and at your sorority house?"

"Yeah, sure. I don't have anything to hide," Liz said, getting up to show them upstairs.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Later that morning, Rory was walking up the stairs from a subway station. She opted for the underground transportation this morning because the train would be virtually empty and she could sneak in some reading time. That and it was only a couple of blocks away from the twenty-first precinct, which was her destination. She walked down the sidewalk and had to cross the street twice before she went up the stairs to the police station.

She passed a young man who must have been in his early twenties. He made eye contact with her for a moment and did a quick double take. He seemed to recognize her. It made sense, Rory thought she'd seen him somewhere before, too. She knit her brows in thought as he looked away and raked a hand through his already messy light brown hair. She watched him cross the street and get into a silver car.

She continued on her way inside the building and pushed her sunglasses up on her head. She smiled at the security guard and walked through the metal detector. She'd been granted clearance to go into the building a long time ago. But she still had to go through the formalities, like everyone else.

She went to the elevator and took it to the third floor, stepping out on the detective's squad. She walked over to Tristan and took a seat in the chair at the end of his desk.

"Well if it isn't my PYT, come to see me," he said without looking away from his computer.

"Wow, you can sense me?"

"Yes. Our connection is that strong," he said before he looked over at her. "Plus, I saw you step off the elevator."

"Ah. Were you, by any chance, talking to a college kid today?"

"Yes, but that's not unusual these days."

"No, I mean just now. I saw a kid leaving, was he here to talk to you guys?"

"Yeah. It was probably Scout McKenzie's roommate. We had him come by so we could ask him some more questions."

"Oh. Well that doesn't make sense."

"Sure it does. We ask a lot of people questions. Sometimes I even get on their nerves. Actually, it's a lot of the time."

"I can't imagine," Rory said wryly. "But that isn't what I was talking about."

"What then?"

"Well, he looked familiar."

"Maybe you saw him leave the apartment building yesterday when he left."

"No, I said I didn't see him, remember?"

"Oh yeah, you did say that." Tristan shrugged. "I don't know. We've all been spending a lot of time at City College. They should probably give us honorary degrees soon."

"Are you collecting them or something?"

"I have a good start," he said, opening a small notebook on his desk. "I know I never saw him before yesterday. But I think I've read his name somewhere."

"What _is_ his name?"

"Kurt Roberts. I swear I've seen it." He flipped through the pages of his notepad, but shook his head. "I didn't write it down before yesterday."

"I could look through _The Campus_. Maybe I've seen his picture," Rory said. "Oh, or maybe it was on Facebook."

Tristan raised a brow. "Playing on Facebook when you should be working?" He tsk- tsked her. "They should block the website at the _Daily News_. It's cutting into productivity."

"Yeah right," she scoffed. "We're journalists and are generally considered unscrupulous. We'll get information any way we can. Plus, we're big believers in the first amendment. Not much of what we do is censored."

"Hmm."

"Oh, like _you_ can't go to any website you want from work."

He shrugged. "We're the authorities. Of course we can look at whatever we need to."

"Of course." Rory took her phone out of her pocket and sent a quick text.

"Am I boring you already?"

"No, I'm just interested in what classes Kurt Roberts is in," she answered innocently.

Tristan stared at her for a moment and narrowed his eyes. "You have minions, don't you?"

"What?"

He nodded. "That's it. That's how you're doing it."

"Doing what?"

"Getting information—sometimes before us. Getting class schedules and rosters," he said. "I can't believe it. I don't even have minions."

"It's not like I have more than one!" she protested.

He just shook his head. "_Any_way, did you just come to shoot the breeze?"

"No, I brought you something."

"What?"

"This," she said, handing over a sheet of paper with a class list printed on it. "It's Scout McKenzie's schedule. Unless you already have a copy."

"We do. We got it yesterday after we couldn't find his girlfriend."

"Liz went MIA?"

Tristan raised a brow at her knowledge, but didn't comment on it. "Yeah, she was at her parents' house in Queens. But we talked to her this morning."

"Does she have an alibi?"

"Yes and no. She was at Scout's apartment before he died, and they argued. After that she left campus for the rest of the day and night. Her sorority sisters said she called them a little after one o'clock, it matched what she told us."

"But she still had time to strangle him before she left."

"Yes."

"Did she know the other two? Lance and Aaron?"

"She said she didn't."

"Did you check to see if she was in either one of their classes?"

"We don't have her transcripts yet, but we'll check."

"Can't you just look at those rosters I gave you last week?"

"I could if I'd kept them."

"You didn't?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because if we need to use them for evidence, I have to go through the proper channels to obtain them. It isn't necessarily illegal, but a judge won't like the way things 'fall into my lap'. I can get my hands on them. I'll just have to wait a little longer."

"Well fine. But _I_ don't have to wait, so I'll look."

"I'm sure you will."

"I already checked to see if Scout was in either class, but he wasn't. This was the first one to not be a graduate student."

"I know. At least before there was a more narrow pattern. Now we just have the college as the connection. Well, that plus they're all males."

"I guess that's something, at least."

"Yeah. And then there's Vernon Anderson still. We've been reading his work e-mail, looking for any communication that sounds negative or suspicious."

"Have you found anything yet?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"It's easier for me to help when you say more."

He grinned. "It isn't your job to help. Plus, that would take the fun out of things. This way I get to marvel at how you find stuff without me telling you."

"Hmm," she said dubiously.

"You know you like it."

"Well, I guess I should be heading back to work."

"I'll walk you out," he offered, to Rory's surprise. They both stood and walked toward the hall. "You know, you could have faxed that schedule over."

"I guess I could have," she said and then shrugged. "But why would I do that when I have a perfectly good excuse to go visit my boyfriend in the middle of the work day?"

"Wow, referring to me as the B word during business hours. That's bold of you."

They stopped when they were in front of the elevator and Rory pushed the down button. When the doors opened, she tilted her head toward the car. "Want to go for a ride?"

He grinned. "You mean do I want to go down on—"

"Stop," she said, raising a hand to emphasize her point.

"The _elevator_," he finished. "Geez, get your mind out of the gutter, Mary." But he smirked as he followed her into the small space.

Rory grimly shook her head at him when he started to quietly sing Aerosmith's _Love in the Elevator_. She poked him in the side. "Hey."

"Fine, I'll stop."

"No, it wasn't that, your stopping was just a bonus. I wanted remind you that you weren't finished tell me why you transferred to Manhattan."

"Oh, right. It isn't really an elevator story."

"That's fine. I just wanted to let you know that I'm not going to try to find out. You'll have to tell me yourself."

He nodded. "I will." When they were nearly to the first floor, he slid a hand around the back of her neck and gave her a kiss. There was a ding and the doors slid open. He turned around and they saw Mark waiting.

He looked at them smugly. "Well if it isn't Nick and Nora. How sweet."

Rory walked out of the elevator, she and Mark both narrowed their eyes at each other suspiciously as they traded places. "Catch you later, Harvard," she said, glancing back at Tristan before turning and walking out of the police station.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Later that afternoon, Rory was at her desk, pouring over the three copies of _The Campus_ she had. So far, she couldn't find a Kurt Roberts, not in the photos or in any of the articles. Since that was a bust, she went back to her other task. She turned to her computer and started Googling.

She tried John Warner with Scout McKenzie and didn't get any helpful results. Next she tried the McHill Books employee with Lance Sooner. No luck. Then she tried it with Aaron Wilson and once again didn't find anything useful. Last—and she was hopeful with this one—she typed in Vernon Anderson with Warner. She found several links to charity events that Anderson had attended. There were also links with John Warner, though she had no idea whether it was the person she was looking for. And there weren't any websites that connected the two.

The most she found about the victims was the recent information that was in the news. She knew that stuff already. None of the other media outlets had any more than what she had. Other than that, the victims were only mentioned in newspaper articles where they were listed in honor rolls or had participated in campus events.

"Love in an elevator," Rory sang quietly. "Livin' it up till I hit the ground." Marie looked at her with her nose wrinkled. "Sorry, that's been in my head for a while."

James walked over then, his eyes on Rory. "Hey Gilmore."

"Hey what?"

"What's the word on the City College Strangler?"

Rory looked at him and frowned. "You aren't going to make me call him or her that in my reports, are you?"

"I haven't decided yet. Do you think it would catch on?"

"Yes. But I don't mean that it would be a good thing."

"How are the police so sure it wasn't the guy that killed his girlfriend last Friday?"

"Because of the way the crime scene looked."

"How did it look?"

"That one was apparently really bloody. The victim stabbed her attacker. Plus, the guy told the police he strangled her to make it look like the others," Rory explained. "And I can tell you firsthand that the last one was not bloody. No mess at all."

"What do you mean, firsthand?"

"I mean I saw the last crime scene. It was very clean. If I didn't know, I wouldn't have had any idea someone was killed in that apartment."

"Wh . . .? How did you . . . ?" James stuttered. "What did they do? Give a walking tour to the media?"

"No, of course not."

"Just you?"

"Yes. Although, I wouldn't call it a tour."

"I'm . . . I mean—I'm okay with it. I'm just wondering how you managed to pull that one off."

Rory looked over to Marie. "You're right. He _is_ naïve."

Marie nodded silently.

"Why?" he asked.

Rory looked back at her editor. "I should really tell my mother before I tell you." So she took her cell phone out of her pocket with the intention of doing so.

James—feeling ignored—walked away.

"Hello?" a voice answered in a French accent.

Rory frowned and took the phone away from her ear to check who she called. The right number was displayed. "Uh, hi Michel. Where's my mom?"

"She went to Luke's about twenty minutes ago and she has yet to return," he explained sourly.

"Oh, all right. Well, I'll just call her there. Thanks Michel."

"When you talk to her, tell her she needs to come back to the inn."

Rory decided she had enough time to mess with him, just a little. "Is everything okay? Can't you handle things without her?"

"Of course I can!" he pouted. "She should just be at work right now and—"

"Okay, I got it. I'll let her know," Rory said quickly, pressing end. She scrolled down to another number and tried again.

There was an answer after three rings. "Luke's."

"Hi, it's Rory—again. I heard from a reliable source that Mom is there."

"Oh, she was, but you just missed her," Luke said. Rory could hear plates being set down on tables. Luke asked someone if they needed anything else before addressing Rory again. "She's headed back to the inn."

"That sounds about right," Rory said, her cell phone beeped at her and she checked the caller ID. "I'm getting another call. I'll try her later, bye Luke."

"Bye Rory."

She accepted the other call. "Hello?"

"I know where I saw his name," Tristan said eagerly.

"Whose?"

"Kurt Roberts. It was on one of those rosters. You still have them, don't you?"

"Yeah, hold on," she said, reaching for a folder. She found the four sheets she was looking for and started scanning the names. "No, not this one. . . Or this one. He isn't in either of Aaron's math classes. Let's see. . . Okay, here it is. He's in Lance Sooner's micro economics class. The one that meets Tuesdays and Thursdays."

"He is?"

"Yes. Hold on. Lance Sooner . . . That one was last Tuesday, right?"

"No. Monday. This week's was Tuesday."

"Oh yeah, that's right. Let me think, was that when we were all on campus?"

"Yup. We had to run over to his dorm building."

"I remember now. Let me look at my notes." Rory grabbed her notebook and started paging through it. "This can't be right."

"What?"

"I can't find anything written in here from last Monday."

"That _doesn't_ sound right. You always write things down."

"Yes, when I have something to write _with_!" Rory said, light bulb coming on.

"Which you always do."

"Not last Monday. I couldn't find any pens in my purse. _Someone_ already stole them all, even my back-ups."

"You should report that to someone."

"I'm reporting it right now."

"I'm not sure if I can help you with this matter, ma'am," Tristan said. "That's all I needed, I'll let you go."

"No wait, that's not the end of what I was saying," Rory said quickly.

"Oh. What else?"

"I was digging through my purse, because some college kids told me about finding Lance in his dorm room. Since I couldn't find anything to write with, I used my phone to send myself an e-mail."

"Okay. . . "

"But before that, I asked a kid who was standing near by if _he_ had a pen and he said no."

"So?"

"So, _that's_ where I recognized that kid from. The one I saw earlier today, leaving the precinct."

Tristan was silent for a moment. "Kurt Roberts?"

"Yes."

"Scout McKenzie's roommate—Kurt Roberts—was outside Lance Sooner's dorm last week?"

"Yes."

"The day he was killed?"

"Yes. He looked familiar that day, too," Rory said before remembering another detail. "Oh my God. He told me he _lived_ there. He was lying. I asked him another question, but he disappeared without answering."

"He said he lived at the dorm?" Tristan asked slowly.

"Definitely."

"Why would he be there?"

"I don't know, returning to the scene of the crime?"

"Slow down, Doll Face. It could be a coincidence."

"That he lied?"

"No. The part about him being there. The lying about where he lived does make it sound suspicious."

"Suspicious like guilty?"

"No, suspicious like questionable. Like we need to question him some more if he was seen outside a building where a murder took place."

Rory heard Tristan tell someone—probably Mark—to call Kurt and tell him to come back. There were a few moments of silence as Rory waited on the line.

A minute later, Tristan said, "Hmm."

"What?" she asked.

"His phone went straight to voice mail."

"Again, suspicious."

"Or a dead cell phone. Or no service. Or a phone turned off during class."

"I think we're backwards here. Aren't _you_ the one who's supposed to think everyone is guilty?"

"Why?"

"Because cops think everyone is guilty. They only see black and white."

"Yeah, well, lawyers see grey. So where does that put me?"

"In a complicated state of mind?"

"That sounds about right," he said. "I have to go, Rory. Thanks for your help."

"Any time."

She hung up the phone and decided to switch gears. She'd been focused on the McHill accountant with the mysterious bank account, while all this time some kid was showing up at crime scenes.

She thought back to the previous Monday. A lot had happened since then—and not just at work. She remembered what Tristan had said the previous day at lunch. After he got the chance to tell her why he transferred, maybe he'd vocalize his feelings again, and more directly. Yesterday had been the first time he'd—sort of—said the L word. As soon as she got him alone, _really_ alone, she'd get to reciprocate. And then they could finish making up. The fun way.

Rory snapped out of her reverie and turned her attention back to the newest suspect. Okay, so he wasn't officially a suspect yet. But maybe she could find something solid enough to make him one. She used the _Daily News'_ search engine and looked at the results for Kurt Roberts. She scanned the results until she found an article from nearly a decade earlier. She read how his parents had both died in a car accident when he was only twelve. He didn't seem to have any siblings, but Rory wondered who his guardian became after the wreck.

She looked over to Marie. "I'm going to be out of the office this afternoon. If anyone needs me, I'll be starting out at probate court."

"Okay. I'll be here if you need help with anything," Marie said.

"Great, thanks."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

A few hours later, Tristan was still at his desk, filling out some paperwork. He kept glancing over to the hallway every minute or so. Mark turned to look several times, too. It actually made him appear paranoid, with all the looking over his shoulder. Stevenson had gotten a hold of Kurt Roberts after a second phone call. The college student said he would be at the precinct in an hour. That was two hours ago.

Tristan sighed and picked up his desk phone. He dialed and impatiently waited. He shook his head after a minute. "He isn't picking up." Tristan took his cell phone out of his pocket and pressed the screen several times before dialing the same number.

"You shouldn't use your cell phone for work," his partner advised.

"I blocked my number. He won't know who it is," Tristan replied. A moment later, he spoke into the phone. "Hi Kurt, this is Detective DuGrey. You said you could come back to the precinct a few hours ago. . . Uh-huh. Okay, well, we still need to talk to you. I need you to drop whatever you're doing and come down here. . . All right, sounds good." Tristan hung up and put the phone back in his pocket.

"He answered when he didn't know who was calling?" Mark asked.

"Yup."

"He doesn't want to talk to the police anymore? That's odd. This morning he was willing to give us all kinds of names of people who might be mad at McKenzie."

"Mm-hmm. He said he'd be here in thirty minutes. I say we go find him if he isn't here in forty."

"Sounds reasonable to me."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

An hour later, Rory was sitting on a bench just outside the office of the court clerk. She'd just hung up her phone and was wide eyed at what she'd found and what Marie had just confirmed. She was about to press one of the speed dial buttons when it started to ring from her hand. She jumped a little in surprise and checked the caller ID.

"Speak of the devil," she said before accepting the call. "Gilmore."

"Huh, you have one too," Tristan said.

"One what?"

"Work voice. Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"It doesn't matter, I was just about to call you. Do you have ESP or something?"

"No, just a question I needed to ask."

"Oh, what is it?"

"Did you get your hands on Roberts' schedule yet?"

"No. But I'm not at the newsroom."

"Where are you?"

"Probate court."

"Fun."

"Yeah. Anyway, I need to show you something. I wasn't sure if it was important at first, but now I think it could be. Maybe."

"Okay, what is it?"

"Uh . . . I'll explain when I see you."

"All right, we're on our way to City College. And I guess the Registrar's Office is first on the list."

"Is he still not answering his phone?"

"He did, and you'll like this. He said he'd come, but then didn't show. I had to block my cell phone number for him to pick up again."

"He is _not_ making himself look good."

"Nope. Anyway, I'll see you in a little while?"

"Yeah," Rory said before they both hung up.

She placed all of her research, including her new information, into a file folder and stood to leave the court house. She went outside and caught a cab. She would have taken the time to read a book, but her mind was moving at a million miles a minute. She was going to have to tell the detectives about her exploits at the textbook company. She could only hope that that her efforts would be appreciated.

After a twenty minute cab ride, she sent Tristan a text, asking where he was. After he replied, she set off for an academic building. She was getting used to the college campus and didn't have to ask anyone for directions. She entered a large brick structure and took a flight of stairs to the second floor. She wandered down the hall and peered into classrooms until she saw Mark and Tristan exit one with a professor. When they were finished talking to the teacher, Rory approached them.

"He wasn't in class?"

Tristan shook his head. "He was a no show. What've you got for me?"

"First, promise you won't be mad."

"That's not a good way to start," Mark commented.

Tristan shook his head.

"Okay, so, I have something here you should see," she said, taking a list out of the file folder.

"What is it?"

"It's a list of bank transactions. The account belongs to someone who works at McHill Books."

Tristan cocked a brow. "And how did you get your hands on someone else's banking information?"

"I was there—at McHill—for an interview. About college expenses. I wanted to put something in my piece about the cost of textbooks."

Tristan stared her down. "I don't think I caught that article in the _Daily News_."

"That's because I still haven't talked Jimmy into putting it in there. He didn't exactly assign it," she explained guiltily.

"Oh I see. You were doing your own undercover work," Tristan said flatly.

"A little. But I really did write the article, I wasn't going to at first. It was just a reason to get into the building to look around. Then I went ahead and wrote about it," she rambled. "The bank card was in the trash. I swear I didn't go snooping through anyone's desk or anything." She could also add that she wasn't the one to find it, but why sell someone out who was just helping her?

"Anyway, who does this belong to?" he asked, pointing to the list.

"John Warner."

Both men frowned and looked at the list again. "John Warner? You're sure?" Mark asked.

"Positive. He's an accountant at McHill Books."

"And he's Kurt Roberts' uncle," Tristan added.

"That's an impressive sum of money withdrawn a couple weeks ago," Mark commented. "Maybe I should have become an accountant."

"Also, he isn't just Kurt's uncle, but legal guardian—at least until Kurt turned eighteen. His parents died in a car accident when he was young. I've been trying to figure out who John Warner is for a week now," Rory said. "And that's not all. His office is just down the hall from Human Resources—where prospective employees interview for jobs."

"So Aaron Wilson would have walked by his office," Tristan said.

"That's what I gathered when I was there."

Tristan ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, we need to look into his bank account."

"How are we going to do that?" Stevenson asked.

"I'll figure something out. Maybe he'll let us see his bank statements if we ask nicely. We need to go talk to him about his nephew, anyway."

Rory followed them and eavesdropped on their phone calls as they headed down the hallway towards the stairwell.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

A couple hours later, Tristan and Mark were inside McHill Books. A trip to John Warner's house had been fruitless. Neither he nor his nephew was there. After speaking with the neighbors, they knew both men had left that morning and hadn't returned for the day. They also had a description of each of their cars.

The detectives stepped off the elevator and headed for the accounting office. They marched straight in and found John Warner at the desk in his cubicle.

He looked up when he noticed them. "Mr. Warner, we're Detectives Stevenson and DuGrey," Mark started. "We understand your nephew, Kurt, was staying with you last night."

"Yes, he was," the middle aged man with graying hair said. "A horrible business, his roommate being killed right in the living room of their apartment."

"We're having some trouble tracking down Kurt today," Tristan said. "Do you know where he is?"

"He was going to class when he left the house this morning."

"He did. And then he came by the precinct to speak with us after that. We called him to come back, but he never came by again. And he didn't go to his afternoon classes. Do you know where he is? We really need to talk to him some more."

"Is he in trouble, or something?"

"Not at the moment," Tristan said. "So do you know where we can find him?"

"He could be at the library at school. Or with a friend." John made a note on a Post-it and handed it over. It had a few names listed. "Those are his closest friends."

"We understand you're his legal guardian. Does he have any other family?"

"Not here in the city. He has an aunt and uncle in Ohio. And a grandmother. But I'm his only family in New York."

"Is that why you became his legal guardian after his parents died?" Mark asked.

"Yes. That way he could stay in the same school."

Tristan took a few steps closer to a bookshelf to John's right. He picked up an accounting book and looked at the date written on the spine. "Where were you Wednesday night, two weeks ago?"

John glanced at his desk calendar. "I was at a work event."

"The one Sterling put on?"

The older man looked taken aback. "Yes. Why?"

"Did you know Vernon Anderson?"

John shrugged nonchalantly. "He's one of the higher ups at the publishing company. I've heard of him."

"But did you know him personally?" Mark asked.

"A little."

"Did you get along?" Tristan asked.

"What does it matter?"

"Well, he's dead now. So we just want to know if anyone had a problem with him."

"I didn't," John said. He didn't seem to want to discuss the matter further, which the detectives picked up on.

"Mind if I take a look?" Tristan asked, pointing down at the record book in his hand.

"Do you have a warrant?"

The blonde detective grinned as though he'd heard just what he wanted to hear. "No. But I can get one." He put the book back on the shelf and he walked out of the accounting department, Stevenson a step behind him.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Later that evening, Rory was back at her desk in the newsroom. She was feeling restless, like she was waiting for something. Though what it was, she wasn't sure. She felt like too much was happening to leave for the day. She was in the middle of these thoughts when her desk phone rang.

"Newsroom," she answered.

"Good, you're still at work," Tristan said. "I'm faxing you something."

"What is it?"

"It's a picture of Kurt Roberts and a description of his car."

"Still no sign of him, huh?"

"None. He's in the wind. And Uncle John says he doesn't know where he is, either."

"So, you just want to encourage Kurt to come forward for questioning?"

"Yes. Well, that and for anyone who's seen him to let us know."

"Should I mention that it's in relation to the strangulations at City College?"

"No, not for the time being. Just say it's about a recent homicide. The whole world doesn't need to know our business just yet. I'm not stupid, people will assume whatever they want. But we'll still see what results we get before we're more specific."

"Does this need to be in tomorrow's paper?"

"Most likely. Go ahead and write it up, but hold off on giving it to your editor for the moment. This isn't being sent to all the media outlets just yet. I'm waiting for the word—and the official statement. Stand by."

"All right, you have six hours before I have to get it to the copy editor."

"It probably won't take that long," Tristan said. "When you write it up, don't use the word suspect. Emphasize that we just want to talk to him. We don't want him running off. At least, not any more than he already has."

"Got it," Rory said before they both hung up.

She opened a blank document and got up to retrieve the faxed document. She took it back to her desk and started to type up the report. She took her time and read through the final draft that she'd printed off. It was just after six when she got a text from Tristan, he was faxing the department's statement and giving her the okay to send it off for the Thursday edition of the paper.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

It was early afternoon the next day and Tristan was sitting at his desk, frowning in concentration at the top sheet of paper in a stack of tips. They'd gotten pretty many since they put the word out on Kurt Roberts. Tristan glanced at the seat next to his desk when someone sat down in it.

"Has he turned up yet?" Rory asked with raised brows.

"Negative. But we got a bunch of leads to look into," he answered as he took off his reading glasses and sat them down on the paper he was reading. "His instructors at City College were supposed to let us know if he went to class today or not."

"I take it he hasn't?"

"Nope. He missed both his morning classes and none of his classmates know where he is."

"What about his uncle? Did you talk to him?"

"Yeah, yesterday. He hasn't seen or heard from Kurt since yesterday morning. Allegedly."

"You don't believe him?"

Tristan shrugged. "He seemed a bit shifty. He was touchy when I picked up an accounting book."

"Did you see anything in it?"

"No. But I'm working on that. Warner said he was at that event Sterling put on the night Vernon Anderson was killed. If we can find some e-mail communication between—or about—the two, I should be able to get a search warrant for his office space."

"Can you search his house, since it's Kurt's permanent address?"

"Not until he's officially a suspect. Being seen at a crime scene isn't enough proof of anything."

"Oh."

"Plus, it generally isn't a great idea to search someone's house under false pretenses."

"You just have to play by the rules, don't you?"

He shrugged again. "Might as well, I spent all that time learning them."

"Okay, so tell me more about the work e-mails."

"The tech guys broadened the search. They're looking at both Sterling and McHill employee e-mails. Plus any mention of either Anderson or Warner should be brought to our attention."

"You know, if you're too busy to read them all, I could help," Rory offered.

He grinned and shook his head. "Nice try."

"Fine. Is there anything else? Any new information the paper needs to put out?"

"Not at the moment. But I'll keep you posted," Tristan said as his partner walked over and took his seat at the other desk.

Rory glanced over at Mark before turning back at Tristan. "I guess that's the end of your lunch break."

"Yeah. You heading back to the newsroom?"

"Yes," she answered, standing. Tristan stood, as well, and walked with her to the elevator. After she pressed the down button, she looked up at him. "Are we on for later?"

He nodded. "I reckon your world is due to be rocked. But there's a good chance I'll be late. We're going to be all over Manhattan, looking into the tips we've gotten. Is that all right?"

"Of course. Do what you have to do," she said.

He raked his fingers through her brown hair and gently pushed some of it behind her ear as he gazed down at her. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. He put his hands on her waist and kissed her before she turned and walked onto the elevator. He watched the doors close before he turned to go back to his desk.

When he did, his boss was standing at his work area with his arms crossed and a frown on his face. Stevenson was looking at Tristan too, but he turned around and shrugged, as though in answer to a question.

When Tristan approached them, Meyer still had his eyes on him. "Detective, a word," he said, heading towards his office.

Tristan's eyes followed him grimly. There were file folders organized at the corner of his desk. He grabbed one before he went to the office.

"Have a seat," the captain instructed.

"I'm all right here," Tristan replied, leaning against a bookshelf opposite the desk.

"Care to explain?"

"Explain what?"

"What I just witnessed."

"What did it look like?"

"Like an intimate moment shared between a detective and a reporter."

"Is that a problem?"

"It is, seeing as it's a conflict of interest."

Tristan shrugged. "It's only a minor conflict. And I'm sure her editor will get over it."

"That doesn't mean _I_ will," Captain Meyer said. "It's inadvisable for someone from the police force to fraternize with a crime reporter."

"It's not like we're in a Shakespearean play here," Tristan said, before adding under his breath, "At least not _this_ time."

"You can't show anyone in the press favoritism."

"Do I?"

"You're a man and she's a woman. I can do the math."

"Fine, I won't deny that I tell her more than I should. But I trust her."

The captain eyed him skeptically. "I thought you were smart. Do you think it's wise to trust someone who'll bed a source?"

Tristan's eyes darkened. "It's not like that, for one thing. And it'll be _wise_ for everyone to not suggest that it is. We've been discreet for a reason," he said. "What's more important is that it really isn't anyone's business but ours."

"Whatever you're doing, it isn't a good idea, considering your occupations."

"We can manage our personal and professional lives just fine."

"You should have disclosed the nature of your relationship to me."

"It's not like I need your permission," Tristan said evenly. "I'm going to date whomever I want."

Meyer stared at the detective for a moment. "If you're going to be a problem, I could have you transferred."

"You won't do that."

"Oh really?"

"Really. And here's why, I'm good at my job and you like that I can usually save you a phone call to the D.A.'s office. Besides," Tristan said, setting the folder on the desk, "I haven't been a problem. Take a look at that."

"What is it?"

"I know how to build a proper defense, consider that mine. I figured the day would come eventually," Tristan explained.

Captain Meyer opened the folder and paged through the papers. Each had a newspaper article taped to it with writing on the sides.

"The stuff in my handwriting is what she knew—not necessarily because I told her—and the articles were published in the paper. I think it'll prove she can sit on information without immediately telling the world."

"When I said you could be her source, I didn't know you had ulterior motives."

Tristan shrugged again. "I didn't think it would matter if I did, but I lucked out," he said. "Either way, she doesn't write anything that shouldn't go public. Pay special attention to that case from February. She had something sent off for publication and I had to ask her to pull it at the last minute. She had to fight her editor to drop the story for a day or two. Do you know of any other reporter that would do that?"

"Don't make it sound like you've got her in your pocket when it's clearly the other way around."

"I don't see how that matters. Just because a conflict of interest exists doesn't mean we're guilty of any wrongdoing," Tristan said before walking out of the office, leaving the captain to look through his evidence.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

After work, Rory was in her bedroom, looking in a dresser drawer. She was considering her options as far as night wear went. She had a few choices. Then again, she thought, she could just save time by skipping the nightgown and putting on a robe. Not a bad idea, but she wasn't sure how long she'd be waiting. So, she picked out a red silk negligee and traded it for the work clothes she had on. She added a robe and looked around the room. She wondered if candles would be overkill, but decided to go for it. They were finally going to finish making up and it would set the mood. So she took some out of the hall closet and put them on her dresser. She sat a lighter next to them and went to the living room.

Rory looked at her phone and picked it up determinedly. Why not have a clear conscience tonight? She dialed home and waited. And waited. No one answered. Not even Luke this time. Where were they? She wondered. She shook her head and decided to try again later. She plopped down on the couch and picked up a book.

She started to read and continued until she fell asleep in the apartment that was growing steadily darker. It would be several hours before she'd be woken up again.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Later in the evening, the detectives were in Tristan's car and he was driving them to various locations, looking into the tips that had come in that afternoon. Mark was just ending a call when he looked over to Tristan.

"All right, we need to go talk to some lady—Deloris Jones—in an apartment. It's over in Brooklyn, just over the bridge."

"Even though it's late?" Tristan asked, glancing down to the clock that glowed nine thirty.

"Yeah. Meyer said she wanted to talk to us in person. Says she knows something."

"Fine. But this is the last one for the night. I have somewhere else to be."

"I suppose you do," Mark said before giving the address.

Tristan continued to drive, making his way over the Brooklyn Bridge. When he found the apartment building they were looking for, he pulled into the lot and double parked. Both men got out of the car and entered the building. There wasn't an elevator, so they had to take the stairs to the sixth floor. They stopped in front of the door marked six hundred and seven and Tristan knocked. A minute later, the door opened and a grey haired woman was on the other side.

"Ms. Jones, we're Detectives DuGrey and Stevenson. We understand you have information about the young man we're looking for?"

"Yes, that's right. I was getting home from the grocery store earlier this afternoon when I saw him go into apartment six-oh-three, just down there," she explained, pointing down the hall.

"It looked like him?" Mark asked, holding out a picture of Kurt Roberts.

The woman nodded. "Yes, that's who I saw. He looked up when I went by and I thought he looked familiar, but not because he lives here. I remembered the picture I saw in the paper this morning. I wasn't sure it was him, though, so I waited to see if they showed his picture on the evening news again. When I saw you were still looking for him, I called the hotline."

"What time did you see him go into that apartment?"

"It was around three o'clock."

"All right, thank you, ma'am."

Tristan and Mark walked over to the apartment indicated and knocked on the door. No one answered, but they were both listening closely.

"Did you hear movement?" Mark asked.

Tristan nodded. "Kurt Roberts?" he yelled. "It's the NYPD. You need to open the door."

There was still no answer. Both men drew their guns and Mark tried the door knob. It was locked.

"We're coming in," Mark yelled before Tristan kicked the door open. They both stood against the wall on either side of the door. They peeked in before entering. Their eyes scanned the living room as they pointed their guns in the corners. "Clear," Mark said, finding the room empty.

"Clear," Tristan said after looking in the kitchen. He nodded to the bedroom and they went in. No one was in the room, but the window was open. They both went over to it and Tristan cautiously stuck his head out. He glanced at the fire escape stairs that when up and then to the ones that led down. "Stop, it's the police!" he yelled.

Kurt Roberts was quickly making his way down the fire escape. When he heard Tristan yell, he moved faster. Both detectives quickly climbed out the window and started down the stairs. They gained on Kurt when he had to let the ladder down at the second story. They weren't too far behind when he jumped to the ground and ran.

Tristan was climbing down the ladder when Kurt turned around in the alley. He pulled a gun from the front pocket of his grey hoodie and fired of a few shots. Tristan sucked in a sharp breath. "Son of a _bitch_," he said as one of his hands reflexively went to his abdomen. He half-jumped half-fell down the ladder, hitting his head on the last bar. He hit the ground a second later in what couldn't be called a graceful landing.

Stevenson jumped and landed beside Tristan as he attempted to stand back up. "Are you okay?" Mark asked.

"I'm fine," Tristan answered a bit faintly as he swayed on the spot and blood started to seep through his shirt.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Mark radioed for help as he quickly ran after Roberts. Mark yelled for him to stop, but he didn't listen. Instead, he ran to the front of the building and headed down the sidewalk. He darted down another alley. Stevenson followed, and found Roberts facing a dead end.

"Put down your weapon or I will shoot," Mark shouted as lightening lit up the sky. Seeing no escape, Kurt dropped the gun. "Put your hands behind your head." He complied. Mark holstered his gun as he came forward, picking up the other weapon. He roughly cuffed Roberts and read him his Miranda rights for shooting a law enforcement official. Mark led the man back out to the street and transferred one of the metal bracelets to a parking meter.

"Is the other guy dead?" Kurt asked. "I didn't mean to kill him."

"Then you shouldn't have been shooting a fucking gun at us," Mark said harshly.

He ran back to the alley beside the apartment building. Tristan had slid down to a sitting position next to the building and was slumped forward, his hand still clutching his side.

"Hey, wake up," Mark said, pushing Tristan's shoulders back and patting his now pale face.

Tristan blinked quickly and looked at his partner. "I didn't know you had a twin," he said feebly. His eyes were unfocused.

"Help is on the way. Try not to fall asleep," Mark said as he took off his tie and started unbuttoning his shirt.

Tristan lifted his hand and saw that it was covered in his own blood. He looked down to his side before resting his head back against the building. His head lolled back and forth and his eye lids started to droop. "I need you to do something."

"What?" Mark asked as he rolled up the shirt that he had just taken off.

"Tell Rory that I lo—"

"Shut up!" Mark interrupted, putting the balled up shirt to Tristan's wound. "I'm not telling anyone anything. You're going to have to do that yourself," he said forcefully, just as it thundered loudly. "Damn it, stay awake," he said, but Tristan's head fell to his shoulder as he lost consciousness.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

In her apartment, Rory was startled awake by the sound of her cell phone ringing and vibrating from the coffee table.

"Hello?" she answered groggily.

"Gilmore, I know it's late, but I need you to go cover a story in Brooklyn," James told her.

"But I cover Manhattan," she argued as she sat up and glanced around the dark apartment. She was aware that she was still alone.

"I know, but that Meyer was one of the responders. He's ahead of the twenty-first, right?"

"Yes."

"I figured it was one of his guys radioing for help, for him to go out there himself," James reasoned. "I'd get someone else to do it, but you'll probably get more out of the police, since one of them got shot."

"What?" Rory asked. What time is it? She wondered. Why isn't Tristan here yet? "Someone from the twenty-first precinct?" she asked, needing clarification. Her heart thumped harder in her chest, afraid to hear the answer to her question.

"Yeah," James said. "It came over the scanner just five minute ago. Something about a foot chase and an officer down. You're the one who's going to get something out of them. So can you do it?"

"Yes, where do I need to go?"

James gave Rory the address and they hung up. She quickly pressed one of the speed dial buttons and paced, hoping for someone to pick up. When she heard Tristan's voice mail, a knot formed in her stomach. She went out to the hall and knocked on the door.

Olivia opened it a moment later. "Rory, what is it?" she asked when she saw the worried look on her friend's face.

"I have to go to Brooklyn. Is Lucy around? I need to borrow her car."

"No. She has play practice tonight and she isn't back yet. Isn't Tristan here tonight? Can't he take you?"

Rory shook her head. "He had to work late. My editor just called. A cop was shot and I have to go cover it. Tristan didn't answer when I called."

"Oh." Olivia noticed what Rory was wearing then. "It'll be okay. Go get dressed and I'll call you a cab."

"All right, thanks," Rory said, hurrying back over to her apartment.

As it thundered outside, she took off her robe and nightgown and traded it for jeans and a long sleeve shirt. She went back to the living room and snatched up her purse. She hadn't put down her phone since it rang when her editor called. She kept waiting for it to vibrate, but so far it hadn't. She left the apartment and almost forgot to lock the door before quickly heading down the stairs.

She tapped her foot impatiently as she kept an eye out for the cab Olivia had called. While she waited, she kept trying to call Tristan. By the time the cab pulled up, heavy drops of rain were falling from the sky. She gave the driver the address and continued to hit the speed dial.

"Come on, come on. Pick up," she said quietly into her phone. Every time she got his voice mail, her stomach twisted some more. After what seemed like forever, the cab stopped as close as the driver could to the given address. Rory paid and got out.

Her shirt and hair got wet as she ran over to the emergency vehicles. An entire city block was taped off. Rory ducked under the tape without hesitating. She looked around frantically until she found Stevenson. When he saw her approaching him, he walked toward her, his face somber.

"Where's Tristan?" she asked before he could say anything. He put a hand on her upper arm and steered her back toward the yellow tape. "He's the one who . . . who got—," Mark nodded curtly so she didn't have to finish her sentence. "He had his vest on though, right?"

Mark shook his head. "We were just going to ask a lady some questions. We found Roberts. He had a gun."

"Where is Tristan?" she asked again.

"He's gone."

She swallowed hard to force down the lump in her throat. "What do you mean gone? Gone where?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling. Her knees felt wobbly all of a sudden. The detective didn't answer immediately. "_Mark_. Where _is_ he?"

When they were on the other side of the tape, Mark gripped her shoulders and shook her a little. "The ambulance took him to the hospital. Here," he said, taking a set of keys out of his pocket.

Rory recognized them as Tristan's. "Why are they bloody?" she asked as tears fell down her cheeks, though the rain washed them away.

He didn't answer her question. "They took him back to Manhattan, to St. Vincent's. I can't get away. Take his car, it's parked over in the lot." He pointed back toward the apartment building.

"I can't drive his car," Rory protested.

"Yes you can. That's just what he tells people."

"No, I mean it's a manual transmission, I don't know _how_."

"You're smart, you'll figure it out," he insisted. "Turn on the siren, you won't have to stop for anything."

"But—"

"Go," Mark said before turning to get back to his colleagues.

Rory ran over to the parking lot and found the black Camaro. The grill of the car scowled at her angrily. "Don't look at me like that," she said as she unlocked the door. When she was inside, she adjusted the seat and buckled up, but had no idea what to do next. She'd never paid attention when she was the passenger. She was going to need help if she was going to get out of the parking lot, so she took her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

In Stars Hollow, Lorelai was sitting on the couch, trying to decide if she'd be able to stay awake for the _Daily Show_. She wanted to, but it had been a long day at the inn. Maybe she'd just watch the first segment. She was in the middle of these musings when the phone started to ring. She wondered who would be calling this late as she got up to answer.

"Hello?"

"Mom?"

"Rory? It's late, is everything okay?"

"No it isn't. I have to go to the hospital," Rory said quickly.

"The hospital? Why? What happened to you?" Lorelai asked, now worried.

"Nothing. It isn't me, it's Tristan. And now I have to drive his car, but I don't know how. I need to talk to Luke."

Lorelai's face twisted in confusion. "Tristan who? Wait, that guy from Grandma's last week? Did you actually see him again?"

"Yes. I've _been_ seeing him. I'm sorry I didn't say anything, but I've tried to tell you all week."

"What? Slow down."

"Mom, I really need to talk to Luke. Is he asleep? Can you wake him up?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess," Lorelai said, taking the cordless phone upstairs to the bedroom. "Luke," she said, shaking his shoulder.

"What is it?" he grunted tiredly.

"It's Rory, she needs to talk to you," she said, handing over the phone. "Do not let her hang up before finding out what hospital she's going to."

"Hospital?"

"Yes, talk to her." Lorelai started taking off her pajamas and putting on pants and a shirt while Luke instructed Rory how to drive a stick shift. Lorelai paced the room until Luke looked down at the phone, a little puzzled. "Well?"

"She hung up."

"Did you find out where she was going?"

"Yeah. She's at St. Vincent's Hospital in Manhattan. Is she okay?"

"_Someone_ isn't. I'm going to go find out what this is all about. I'll call you when I know," Lorelai said as she put on her jacket. She picked up her purse and headed out the bedroom door.


	7. Good to be Alive

**Title**: Libertad

**Chapter ****7**: Good to be Alive

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**A/N**: Here's the end of another story. If you've got questions, I've got answers. Ask here, I'll answer on my LJ. The third story will be called: Ain't Life Grand. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed.

_This is part of the essence of motherhood, watching your kid grow into her own person and not being able to do anything about it. Otherwise children would be nothing more than pets. –Heather Armstrong __[Dooce]_

**Good to be Alive**

It was just past midnight. Lorelai was watching the numbers on the elevator get larger until it reached the eighth floor. When the doors opened, she walked out into the hall and started to follow a green line on the floor. She frowned when she heard a familiar—not to mention aggressive—voice coming from the nurse's station. She rounded a corner and saw Paris Gellar. She was wearing green scrubs and tennis shoes, and she was arguing with a nurse.

"If you'll just let me go into surgery, I want to observe," Paris said. "Just call your chief of surgery and make it happen."

"Please, miss—"

"_Doctor_. I have references out the wazoo, if you need them."

"Paris? What are you doing here?"

Paris turned, surprised to see Lorelai approach. The nurse Paris had been verbally abusing took the opportunity to sneak away. "Rory called me in a panic. She wanted me to call the hospital and pretend to be Tristan's doctor, so she'll know what's going on with his surgery. But since I was finishing up my shift and a patient was being air lifted to another hospital in Manhattan, I went along for the ride and came here."

"Oh." Lorelai felt more out of the loop than before.

"If the staff here wasn't _incompetent_, they would let me help with the surgery." Paris said it loudly, hoping someone—anyone—would hear.

A different nurse walked over to the counter where the two women were standing. "Dr. Gellar, the chief says you can scrub in and observe Detective DuGrey's surgery."

"Finally. It only took a half an hour of arguing with you people."

"Uh, Paris, do you know where Rory is?" Lorelai asked.

"Yeah, down the hall. There's a waiting room to the right."

"Thanks." They parted and Lorelai moved down the hall. She found the indicated waiting room. It was empty, except for her daughter. "Rory."

Rory looked up, stunned. "Mom, what are you doing here?"

Lorelai sat down next to her before responding. "You can't just call me in the middle of the night saying you have to go to the hospital and not expect me to come see what's wrong. Now, _what_ happened?"

"Tristan got shot."

"That's awful. But why are _you_ here, if you just met him at Grandma's last week?"

"My editor had me cover the shooting."

"Oh."

Rory looked away. "And I didn't meet him at Grandma's. It was before that."

"Right, well Chilton then."

Rory shook her head and looked back at her mother. "I'm a crime reporter in Manhattan."

"And I'm an innkeeper in Stars Hollow." Rory knit her brows. "Oh, we're not doing a thing? All right, go ahead."

"Tristan is a homicide detective. In Manhattan," she continued. "We both get called to crime scenes. And last October, we were assigned to the same one. He's been my police source ever since. You might say he . . . contributes to the paper."

"Then why did you let Grandma introduce you, if you've been in touch with him this whole time?"

"Because I lied. I haven't been seeing someone for a few months."

"Yeah I know."

Rory shook her head again. "It's been longer. I met someone . . . at a crime scene. In October."

"Romantic. I think that's the true definition of meet-cute," Lorelai said before thinking about it for a minute. "So you ran into Tristan at a crime scene in October. And you've been seeing someone you met at a crime scene in October . . . So you've been _seeing Tristan_?"

Rory nodded. "Since October."

"Oh," Lorelai said with a frown as she looked down at her hands.

"You're mad."

"No I'm not."

"Well you should be. _I_ would be. I tried to tell you all week, but I could never catch you. Where were you earlier? No one answered when I called."

"We were having dinner at Sookie and Jackson's."

"Oh," Rory said. "I'm a terrible person."

"No you're not."

"Yes I am. This isn't what _we_ do. I left out major details when I said I was seeing someone," Rory said, a few tears escaping her eyes. "And it was like you said, when you don't tell someone something, the longer you wait the harder it gets."

"I did say that, didn't I?"

"And what were the chances? Of all the crime scenes in New York City, I got assigned to his."

"You sound a little like Humphrey Bogart."

"I tried not to like him," Rory went on. "I really didn't want to."

Lorelai looked at her daughter. "Why not?"

"Because it's _Tristan_. It was always really easy to not like him in high school. It was unexpectedly difficult this time."

"How so?"

"I was surprised by him. Surprised that he has a job that helps other people, rather than himself. And he was _humble_ about it, he isn't humble about anything," Rory explained. "After about a week I was surprised to discover he went to Yale Law School. And that he doesn't tell people. It took me a little while to accept that he's not entirely the same person he was in high school."

"You're not entirely the same, either."

"I suppose so."

"So, why didn't you tell me about him?" Lorelai asked slowly. "I mean _really_ tell me."

"I don't know," Rory said miserably.

"It's something _I'd_ do—have done."

"I know. I've been wrapped up in my grown up-cosmopolitan-fast paced-New York life. Where I don't have to tell my mother all the intimate details of my secret salacious love affair."

"Wow."

"What?"

"It sounds pretty hot when you put it like that."

"Yeah," Rory agreed with a sigh. "And it's not even like it was a well kept secret. People knew, it just went unspoken."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Lorelai asked.

"Because he's my source. I'm pretty sure we're not allowed to be romantically involved. I'll have to check my employee handbook. At the very least it's frowned upon. We both knew going in that it was a horrible idea. But we went for it anyway."

"Look at you," Lorelai said, "breaking the rules and not caring."

Rory shook her head and buried her face in her hands. "I'm going to have such a bad reputation."

"Cheer up, it worked out for Joan Jett."

"Relationships with sources are already perilous by nature. And that's when they're just business. I crossed the line on this one. This is why we kept it so quiet." Rory looked at Lorelai with apologetic eyes. "Maybe too quiet. I know I hurt your feelings in the process. Tristan's too, which I was not expecting. He was _so_ mad at me last Friday."

"You didn't seem too thrilled with him, either. If I remember correctly."

Rory nodded. "You caught us on a really bad night."

"So what was all that about?"

She sighed. "I was mad about his participation in the _Post's_ list of eligible bachelors—where I read about him going to law school."

"Oh, that analogy you used last weekend makes sense now."

"I may have been a bit irrational about the whole thing. Then I said the very thing I don't want people to think. I said that we trade information for . . . time in the bedroom. He did _not_ like that comment. And it didn't help when no one knew him at Grandma's party."

"But you left with him."

"I know."

"Why did you do that if you were mad?"

"So I could continue the fight I was picking."

"How did that go for you?"

Rory shook her head. "You don't want to know."

"All right. So it's been a week. How are things now?"

"Better. A lot better. With the exception of his current state, of course."

Lorelai sat in thought for a while. "I guess it makes sense, really. When you think about it."

"What makes sense?"

"You've been working the crime beat for a few years now. It makes sense that one of the boys in blue would catch your attention at some point. Why not pick the one who went to Yale?"

"I guess," Rory said.

After a moment Lorelai asked, "You aren't secretly living together, are you?"

"No."

"Were you really sick at Christmas? Or was that a fib so you could stay in the city?"

Rory knit her brows. "I was really sick. I had strep throat, like I said. Tristan was probably happier about it than he should have been."

"Why?"

"He didn't have anywhere else to go. His grandfather spends the holiday in Europe."

"What about his parents?"

"He doesn't talk to them much."

"Lucky."

Rory looked at her mother grimly. "They're divorced. His mom sent him a Christmas card. I think he feels like he'd be intruding on them if he went for a visit. Like he's not a part of the family."

Lorelai considered this before asking, "You don't feel like that when _you_ come home, do you?"

"No. But you and I have always been different."

"That's true." They sat in silence for a little while. After some time, Lorelai glanced over at the door. "Hey, Paris is back," she said, nodding over at the door, where the young doctor had just appeared.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Rory nervously stood up and approached her friend. She followed Paris over to a pair of chairs along the wall of the hallway. Paris opened the file in her hand and pulled out Tristan's chart.

"Well? How is he?" Rory asked, bracing herself for the answer. "And tell me in English."

"They're finished with the surgery. He'll be moved up to this floor for recovery in a little while," Paris explained. "Do you know what happened?"

"He got shot. Obviously."

"Yeah, and he apparently hit his head at some point, he had a mild concussion. The swelling went down though. The bullet went in and luckily didn't hit any major organs. They just had to remove the bullet and sew him back up."

"That's it?"

Paris nodded and looked at her friend. "He lost a lot of blood, but he's going to be fine, Rory."

"You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, I'm a—"

"Doctor. Right."

"He'll have to take it easy for a few weeks," Paris went on. "But you shouldn't worry. Surgery went well. And everyone in a hospital usually steps up their game when it's a cop. They're generally viewed as the good guys."

"They are, aren't they?"

Paris shrugged. "Sure. That doesn't mean you shouldn't keep your eyes on the doctors and nurses around here. Staph infection is spread to patients from the people who work in the hospital."

"Uh, okay."

"I'm serous. Don't be afraid to ask them if they've washed their hands. But that shouldn't be a problem for you. You ask people questions for a living."

"You aren't going to get in trouble are you?" Rory asked.

"For what?"

"For telling me all the details. You know, doctor-patient confidentiality."

"First of all, I'm not his doctor."

"That sounds like a loophole."

"Second, he isn't going to sue me for telling _you_."

"Well, probably not. But I still don't want you to get into trouble for me. I don't want you to be—what's the doctor term for disbarred?"

"Relax, no one will revoke my medical license," Paris said. "You're his emergency contact."

"What?"

Paris pulled a form out of the file. "Here."

Rory looked at the form. It was on New York Police Department letterhead and listed two contact names to notify in case of emergency. Rory's name was listed before Janlen DuGrey's. It also included their relationship to Tristan.

"You didn't know?" Paris asked.

Rory shook her head. "No. But I'm still not family. You're only allowed to tell family, right?"

"He knows that. He covered all his bases and attached this." Paris handed over another form.

Rory looked at the page, it looked a little like a contract. Tristan had signed at the bottom, so had Mark, as a witness. It was dated a month prior. "What is it?"

"A legal document."

"But what does it mean?"

"It basically says all medical personnel have to tell you what's going on with him. If they don't, he isn't going to be happy. Under no circumstance are they to _not_ tell you something."

"I didn't know there were ways around the confidentiality rule."

"There are always ways to circumnavigate rules. Most people don't bother to hire an attorney to draw up the paperwork. It looks like he did."

Rory furrowed her eyebrows. "He probably drew that up himself. He went to law school. At Yale."

Paris thought it over for a minute. "That makes sense."

"It does?"

"Mm-hmm. It also reaffirms that I made the right decision—career wise."

"Paris?"

"What?"

"Tristan and I . . . are dating. He is my boyfriend. And he has been for several months now."

"Yeah, I know."

"But I never confirmed it. Officially."

"No sweat, I figured it out."

"But you shouldn't have had to. You're my friend and I should have told you."

"I'll get over it."

"Are you sure you don't want to tell me that you told me so?"

Paris shrugged. "Maybe another time. I'm too tired to gloat about being right at the moment."

"Thanks for coming all the way here tonight."

"No problem," Paris said. She put the chart and the forms back into the file before speaking again. "So I guess this is the part where you decide whether or not you're going to stay with him."

"Of course I'm staying. You just said he's out of surgery."

"That isn't what I meant."

"Oh. Well, what then?"

Paris looked Rory in the eye. "I won't sugar coat it—"

"You never do."

"I see a lot of people come into the hospital. I've seen cops who got shot in the line of duty. They don't all make it. Tristan got lucky this time," Paris explained. "It's a lot for a significant other to worry about every day."

"Oh," Rory said, shifting her gaze to the floor, letting the weight of Paris's words sink in.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

"He's out of surgery. They're taking him to a room now," Rory told her mother when she'd returned to the waiting room.

"How is he?"

"Paris said he's going to be fine. She went to find the attending doctor."

"That's good. Do you get to see him now?"

"Yeah."

"Let's go then."

Rory led them to the room the orderlies had rolled Tristan's bed into. They each took a seat and looked at Tristan. He was still asleep and he was hooked up to an IV. A machine was monitoring his heartbeat.

"So," Lorelai started. "Your boyfriend is a cop. That can be dangerous."

Rory nodded solemnly. "His job usually doesn't have this much . . . excitement. He usually spends his time researching and asking people annoying questions."

"Your jobs _are_ pretty similar then."

"Yeah. Except no one has ever tried to shoot _me_," she said. "That's why he agreed to do that list for the _Post_. To appear single."

"What do you mean?"

"He makes dangerous enemies and he doesn't want them to know about me."

"Oh. Well, I can appreciate that."

Rory tore her eyes away from Tristan and turned them on Lorelai. "You don't get to hate him."

"What?" Lorelai asked, surprised by the accusatory tone.

"You never like my boyfriends. You can't just hate Tristan."

"Hey, give me a chance. I didn't hate them all." Rory raised a disbelieving brow. "Fine, I guess I can't say I liked any of them the entire time I knew them. But I like to think they gave me reasons to dislike them."

"Then he already gave you a reason. Grandma and Grandpa will approve—do approve, judging by the introduction last week."

Lorelai frowned. "Why does that matter?"

"Come on, if they like someone or something, that's usually your cue _not_ to."

"That's not always true."

"It's true enough. Even _you_ have wondered if you only like things because Grandma doesn't," Rory insisted.

"I like to think I've grown out of that phase of my life."

"It still doesn't change the fact that her liking someone never got them bonus points in your book," Rory said. She paused for a beat."Which of your worlds do I belong to?"

"What?"

"You're always going on about your separate worlds and how you don't want them to cross. You don't like Grandma and Grandpa knowing Stars Hollow things or people. I've always played the buffer between you guys. Which world does the buffer belong to?"

"Rory, you transcend my worlds."

"But what does that mean? Do I have to pick one? Or are you going to reluctantly accept that I'm with someone from your old world, but privately be against it?"

"You're an adult. I have to live with whatever decisions you make."

"Well maybe I don't want you to just _live_ with it. I know you don't care about what _your_ mother thinks, but I'm not like that. I do care what you think."

"I promise to give this guy a chance."

"I just don't want it to be such an effort," Rory said. "Is that so much to ask?"

"I guess not," Lorelai answered. "But you have to give me a break. You're my kid. Some day a guy is going to take you away from me."

"I already took myself away when I started my career," Rory said dryly.

"This isn't the reason that you didn't tell me, is it?"

Rory shrugged. "No. I don't think so. If I did, it was subconscious."

Lorelai nodded and was quiet for a few minutes. "You know, you have a rare opportunity here."

Rory glanced at Lorelai. "What do you mean?"

She nodded at Tristan. "He'll probably be sedated for a while. Tell me about him."

"What?"

"Really, I'll have no choice but to believe that he's perfect by the time he wakes up."

"But he isn't," Rory protested. "He's trying to steal your crown, for one thing."

"My Lorelai crown? You're the only one who can take that."

"No. Your crown for stubbornness."

"Oh, that one."

"If he was a wizard, his Patronus would be a mule," Rory said. "You want know why he became a cop?"

"I would love to know."

"Partly because he thought it would be fun and partly because it would make his dad mad. I don't know what it is with you people. Is there something in the water in Hartford?"

"I don't think so. But you're the Erin Brockovich around here. Maybe you should investigate."

"You know how sometimes parents threaten to send their kids to military school if they don't shape up?"

"I do. I've made that threat with you."

"Well Tristan's dad doesn't make empty threats. He followed through when Tristan broke into a safe back in high school. And he tried to force Tristan into being a lawyer by making his trust fund contingent," Rory said. "If you ever get the guts to get a tattoo—"

"I've told you, I'm going to do it!"

"It apparently helps to be mad at a parent and a little drunk."

"I'll keep that in mind," Lorelai said. "So, I guess it really _is_ a hard-knock life."

"He wasn't exactly living in a closet under the stairs or anything," Rory said wryly. "He might not like his dad, but he respects him. I think he knows military school got him off the entitled path he was comfortably cruising down."

"Well, you know what they say. What doesn't kill you . . ." Lorelai glanced over at Tristan and cringed. "Sorry. Ill-timed quote."

Rory turned concerned eyes back to the bed before sighing. "He works too hard sometimes. He doesn't just let a case rest when he turns it over to the prosecutor."

"Dedication to the job?"

"More like control freak. I think he'd do both jobs if he could." Rory thought for a while before speaking again. "He barely even touched me during our first date."

"So he's a gentleman?"

Rory scoffed and shook her head no. "He fell asleep."

"You _are_ pretty boring."

"He'd just finished that case we were both working on and was tired. Trust me. He made it clear he had other plans."

"Oh."

"He still calls me Mary sometimes."

"Ironically, I guess, at this point."

Rory raised a brow and nodded. "At some point during the winter I started inviting myself over to his place on Sundays. It's when he watches football."

"He doesn't make you watch too, does he?"

"No. I take a book to read," Rory answered. "But you know what? I think football is over. I think they had their last big game. What's the Super Bowl of football?"

"You're asking _me_?"

"What has he been watching?" she asked herself with narrowed eyes. But she shook her head, unable to come up with the answer. Lorelai yawned and Rory noticed. "Why don't you go back to my apartment and get some sleep?"

"I'm okay."

"No, really. I feel bad enough that you came all the way here in the middle of the night. And all because I was stupid."

"You weren't stupid."

"I'd still feel better if you got some sleep."

"All right, if you insist. But what about you? You must be tired too."

"I'm fine. I'm going to stay," Rory said firmly.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

The work day was getting started at the _Daily News _later on in the morning. Marie was looking at Rory's desk with a frown. Their editor was a few desks away.

"Hey Jimmy," she said, motioning for him to come over. "Where's Rory?"

"She called in sick."

"Did she actually _sound_ sick?"

"Kind of. She sounded really tired, at least. And last night she only sent me her notes for the story I had her cover. I had to write up the article."

"Last night? What was it?"

"Police shooting. Over in Brooklyn."

"Why did you make her go over there?"

"Because it was someone from the twenty-first precinct that got shot."

"It was?"

"Yes. They found the kid they were looking for."

"Do you know who it was?"

"The kid?"

"No, the cop that got shot."

"Oh, no. You know they don't release names of officers."

"Yeah I know. But a cop got shot last night and Rory isn't here today?"

"You're very quick this morning," James said dryly.

"Don't go anywhere," Marie said. She grabbed a file folder from Rory's desk and flipped through the pages. "Here, get this in the paper. Tomorrow's."

James looked down at the sheet in his hand and shook his head. "It's that piece she wrote a while back about the police department. How they work tirelessly for the greater good. I can't print it. It'll look like we're in the tank for the NYPD. I already told her no when she wrote it."

"It's different now. One of them got hurt on the job. Just find a way. Put it in with the editorials. People can write their opinions in that section."

"Gee, I didn't know that."

"You learn something new every day. I want to see it in tomorrow's paper," Maris said authoritatively as she booted up her computer. She pulled her cell phone out to give Rory a call.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Lorelai walked down the hall of the ICU and found the room she was looking for. Rory was sitting in the same chair she'd been sitting in when Lorelai left. She walked over and nudged Rory's shoulder.

She looked up with bleary eyes and sat up. "What time is it?" she asked in a low voice, twisting around a little and massaging her neck. She looked over to Tristan, who was still asleep.

"It's just after eight thirty," Lorelai answered. "When did you fall asleep?"

"About a half an hour ago, I think."

Lorelai handed over some clothes. "You looked damp last night—well, earlier this morning."

"Oh, thanks."

"Why don't you go change?" Rory bit her lip and glanced at Tristan. "Go on. I'll stay and keep watch."

"Okay," she said before she left the room.

Lorelai sat down in the other chair. The night's storm had blown over and Friday was proving to be sunny. She looked at the blonde man lying on the bed in front of her. Perhaps her scrutinizing gaze was too intense, because he started to stir.

His eyes finally opened and looked over at the occupied chair. "Rory?" he asked, his voice a little hoarse.

"No. Lorelai."

He stilled. "Oh."

"We had a changing of the guard."

He gave a single nod. Then his eyes shifted around the room and he frowned.

"You're at St. Vincent's Hospital," Lorelai answered his unasked question.

He looked down and put his hand to his side. There was a large bandage under his hospital gown. "That didn't feel very good," he said, remembering why he was there. "I should have worn my vest."

"It would have come in handy if you wanted to be bullet proof." Lorelai paused for a beat. "So. You exist."

Tristan looked over at her again and nodded silently.

"And other than being holier than last week, you aren't disfigured at all."

He shook his head.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

He nodded again.

She considered him before speaking again. "I know Rory is all grown up and can make her own decisions. But I'm still her mother. So I feel the need to ask, what are your intentions?"

Tristan propped himself up a little. "Well, I'm almost thirty and she gives me the time of day. So, not entirely honorable."

"As the guy who's been sleeping with my daughter on the sly for several months, I don't think you're in the position to lie to me. It's too soon for that."

He arched a brow. "_Did_ I lie?"

"I'd say so. I know why you did that list in the _Post_."

"Oh. That." He shrugged. "Just because I can't keep myself out of harm's way doesn't mean I can't try to keep her out of it."

"I appreciate your effort to keep her safe," Lorelai said. After a minute passed by in silence she said, "I guess it's a twist that you enforce the rules now, considering you used to break them."

He thought about it before answering. "I'd say I'm living a fairly paradoxical life in general these days."

"So how much is your job like _Reno 911!_?" she inquired.

"Other than the short shorts, not too much."

Lorelai smiled.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

A short time later, Rory returned to the room, carrying two cups of coffee. "It's a far cry from Luke's, but it's all the hospital had," she said. She looked up and saw that Tristan was awake. She stopped in her tracks. The bed was inclined so he was in a sitting position. "You're awake," she stated.

He nodded.

"You have to wear your vest if you want to be bullet proof."

"That's the consensus of everyone in the room," he said.

Rory looked over to Lorelai and walked over to her chair. "Mom, this is Tristan, my boyfriend." She looked at him and nodded back a Lorelai. "This is my mother, Lorelai. Don't call her ma'am. Or Ms . . . anything."

"Nice to meet you, Tristan."

"Likewise," he returned.

"You know what? I'm pretty hungry, I think I'll go out and find some non-hospital food," Lorelai said, getting up from the chair. "Is Paris still here? We could get some breakfast."

"Yeah, but she went to the on-call room a few hours ago to get some sleep."

"Oh, I'll let her rest then, she had a late night."

"Okay, see you later?" Rory asked.

"Yes." as

After Lorelai had walked out of the room, Tristan asked, "Paris is here?"

"Yes. I called her last night when I got here. I just wanted her to find out what was going on. She had a chance to come, so she did," Rory explained. "I don't think she got to poke around at your insides, but she definitely got a look."

Tristan cringed. "That makes me nervous. I'm probably still on her revenge list."

"You know about her list?"

"Does she actually have one? Shoot, I was half joking."

"I wouldn't have called her if I'd known that the doctors are legally obligated to tell me about your medical issues."

"You weren't supposed to find out about that. I wasn't planning to get shot."

"You know what they say about the best laid plans." Rory sat back down in her chair. She took a sip of her coffee and made a face before setting it down. She looked at Tristan pensively. "What happened to you?"

He knit his brows. "I got shot. I thought you knew that."

"No. Why are you in Manhattan? Did something happen to you?"

"No," he answered, shaking his head a little. Rory looked perplexed. "It was my partner, Eric. He'd been a detective for fifteen years. Some guy he put away a long time ago got out on parole. He didn't go after Eric, but his family. His wife and daughter were crossing the street one day after school," Tristan explained. "They got plowed over by a big SUV. Eric's wife died, but his daughter somehow survived. She's only seven."

"That's terrible," Rory said sympathetically.

Tristan nodded. "He quit the force after that, decided it wasn't worth it. And I . . . ran away. Like a scared little boy. My master plan was to not stay in one place very long. Try to stay elusive."

"You were going to be a nomad for the rest of your life? That's a horrible plan," Rory said.

"It could have worked. I reckoned I was pretty lucky, not to have anyone to put in danger like that," Tristan said. "But now that isn't the case and I have to stay in Manhattan."

"Why?"

"Because I got my foot caught in the door."

"Meaning?"

"You're here," he said slowly.

"So?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"

"Say what?" she asked innocently enough.

He nodded. "Apparently we're in a new phase of the relationship where you only know things after I tell you."

"I don't know things that I can't find in public records or by making a phone call."

"Fine. I love you. Happy?"

She nodded. "Thank you."

"So that means I'm not going to let anything happen to you because of me. If I can do something about it."

Rory was quiet for a moment before she spoke again. She looked down at her hands as she did so. "I fell asleep while I was waiting for you last night. A call from my editor woke me up. He said I needed to cover a police shooting." Tristan watched her as she hugged herself and looked away from him. "I was worried sick during the whole ride to Brooklyn. I had a horrible feeling it was you. And when I got there and knew that it _was_, I felt worse."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"I had a lot of time to think last night, after you got out of surgery. And I made an important decision . . . about us," she said, still not making eye contact. She swallowed before she went on. "I can't worry like that any more. I don't want to."

Tristan looked down. "Oh. I understand. I don't expect you to do that. Not many girls would be able to handle that aspect of my job. I wouldn't ask you to."

Rory turned to him finally. She narrowed her eyes. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and jumping to the wrong conclusion. It's getting old," she said sternly. "I thought you figured out a long time ago that I'm not most girls. _I_ decide what I can handle, not you."

He glanced over at her, a little bewildered. "What did you decide about us then?"

"I decided that you aren't allowed to get shot _ever_ again. I forbid it. Because I love you and you had no right to go out and get yourself shot on the night that I had big plans to tell you so."

Tristan knit his brows and frowned at her. "Come here," he said, waving his hand for her to move closer. She got up and sat on the bed next to him. He scrutinized her face, searching her eyes. "You don't _look_ high."

She glared at him. "I'm not. _You're_ the one on painkillers."

"I must be really fantastic in bed," he said, still looking perplexed. He shook his head. "It's the only thing that makes sense."

"You have potential," she said flatly.

He raised the blanket and lifted up an arm, inviting her to lie next to him. She kicked off her shoes and swung her legs up on the bed. He covered her up as she settled on her side, up against him. He kissed the top of her head and held the arm that she had carefully rested over his chest.

They lied together for a while, Tristan had almost fallen back to sleep when Lorelai returned to the room. If she was surprised to see them both in the bed, she recovered quickly.

"You're back," Rory observed.

"As promised."

Rory frowned and looked at Tristan. "Shouldn't your grandfather be here by now? He's your other emergency contact."

"He's out of the country on business this week. I should call him and tell him I'm okay."

"What else are you going to tell him?" Lorelai asked.

"What do you mean?" She looked at the two of them pointedly. "Oh. Well, I keep him in the dark when it comes to my personal life anyway. He's used to it by now. He'll be too happy that I've got a respectable girl to be upset."

"That's true."

Tristan and Rory both frowned at Lorelai. "How do you know?" he asked.

"Last week at the party he wanted to let me know that you'd get Rory back to the city safely. He mentioned how he wished you'd find a good girl, like _my_ daughter."

"There you go. He'll get over it."

Lorelai smiled deviously. "Rory's grandparents won't. But I have a plan."

"Oh no," Rory said.

"What?" Tristan asked.

"Be afraid."

"Hear me out. Your grandmother will—no doubt—be offended that you were sneaking around without telling her. And I know you hate to hurt anyone's feelings, the way you hurt mine."

"Uh-huh," Rory said warily.

"So, why tell her everything if it'll just make her upset?"

"I have to tell her or she'll keep trying to set me up."

"Oh I know. I propose that you let her think that this was all her idea."

"What?" Rory said doubtfully.

Lorelai nodded. "She can know you're seeing each other without knowing how long."

"I don't think I want to keep lying to her, though," Rory protested.

"But it'll be different this time."

"How?"

"_I'll_ know the truth. So it'll be win-win-win. Emily Gilmore will think her granddaughter is dating a suitable Yale man that she introduced her to, you won't hurt her feelings, and I'll get the pleasure of knowing it had nothing to do with her at all."

"I don't know," Rory said skeptically.

"Come on, you really hurt me by not being completely honest, this could help smooth things over." Lorelai sure _sounded_ like she was getting over it just fine.

"You're guilting me into going along with your scheme?"

"That's right."

"How long are you going to milk this?"

"As long as I can," Lorelai answered. She already had her cell phone out and was scrolling down her contact list. Tristan and Rory both watched as, a moment later, she started to talk. "Mom, hi. Listen, Rory called me earlier. She had to cover a police shooting last night. Turns out it was that guy you introduced her to last week. . . Tristan, right. Anyway, she's at the hospital with him right now and she was wondering if you would be able to let his grandfather know that he's going to be fine."

"She thought that up really fast," Tristan muttered.

Rory continued to stare at her mother.

"Uh-huh, that's right. Okay, thanks so much. Rory will appreciate it . . . Yes, I'll see you tonight. Bye Mom," Lorelai said before hanging up and looking over to the bed. She looked rather pleased with herself.

"This is not a good idea," Rory said as her phone rang from her pocket. She pulled it out and rolled her eyes. "Hello? Yes Grandma, I'm here . . . He's fine, surgery went well. . . Uh, yeah, I guess I could do that . . . Okay . . . Sure, bye." She ended the call and looked at Tristan. "I should probably check in on you from time to time, so she can report back to your grandfather."

"That's so nice of her," Lorelai said. She was grinning like the Cheshire cat. "See? I'm having fun already."

"That's usually a bad sign," Rory said.

"You know, if I was a suspicious person—who thought my parents were evil manipulators—I'd think they set this whole thing up."

"You do think they're evil manipulators."

"Oh, that's right," Lorelai said. She looked at Tristan. "You better watch out, they'll stop at nothing."

"I'll keep a weather eye out."

"All right, I think it's time I head back to Stars Hollow," Lorelai said. "It was nice to meet you again, Tristan. Hopefully next time you won't be wearing a hospital gown."

"I hope that, too."

Rory sat up to give her mother a hug. "Thanks for coming. And sorry for not tell you the truth sooner."

"Well, I guess late is better than never."

She headed for the door, but Tristan remembered something. "Lorelai, wait," he said. She stopped at the door and turned back. Rory frowned. "I've heard you have mug shots," he said, pointing to Rory.

"I do."

"Do you think I could have a look at those?"

She smiled at him. "I can do you one better. I have hers _and_ her grandmother's."

He raised a brow with interest. "I'll bring the coffee."

"I'll have doughnuts ready."

"You have access to mug shots," Rory protested. "And you don't even eat dough—"

"Shhh," Tristan hissed. "I don't think you were invited."

"Yeah, you're on punishment," Lorelai added.

Tristan looked back to Lorelai. "We should probably mock her about that building at Yale, too."

"Absolutely."

"I've waited so long to make fun of that," he said.

"I don't like this at all," Rory said gloomily.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Shortly thereafter, Mark stepped out of the elevator after it'd reached the eighth floor. He followed the stripe down the center of the hall and walked by the nurse's station. He saw a blonde woman stop in front of a taller brunette.

"Lorelai, you're still here," the blonde said.

Mark stopped short and knit his brows.

"I'm on my way back home," the brunette, Lorelai, said.

"Did Tristan wake up?"

"Yeah. They're both in his room now."

"I'm going to talk with his doctor one more time before I check in on him. Then I need to leave, too." The blonde woman looked over to Mark then and scowled. "Do you have a staring problem?"

He shook his head. "No," he answered before he turned and continued down the hall. He entered the room that the person at the desk on the first floor had told him Tristan was in. He found his partner on the bed with Rory next to him, her head on his shoulder. It looked like she was sleeping.

"Hey," Tristan greeted.

"How are you?"

"Holy. But I think I'll pull through."

"Good to hear. It takes too much time to break in a new partner," Mark said. "So, what do your remember about last night?"

Tristan thought about it for a moment before responding. "We talked a lady—in Brooklyn. She told us where Roberts was. Then the bastard put a bullet in me."

Mark nodded. "That about covers it."

"Did you catch him?"

"Yeah, I made the arrest. Jacobs pressed charges for criminal possession of a weapon, running from the police, and the attempted murder of a law enforcement official," Mark explained.

"That sure was nice of him."

"Who knows, maybe you two will turn over a new leaf and get along now."

"I'm not sure about that," Tristan said. "Did you even read that thing in the _Post_ about me?"

Mark shrugged. "I skimmed it. Just enough to be able to mock you about it."

Tristan shook his head but didn't say anything.

"So tell him about Yale already," Rory said, sounding exasperated.

He looked at her sharply, she startled him. She still had her eyes closed. "I thought you fell asleep. But fine." He looked over to his partner again. "I went to law school at Yale. Some might say I get a kick out of intimidating our beloved A.D.A."

"Oh." Mark shrugged again. "Okay."

"See, _he_ doesn't care about it," Tristan said, looking down at Rory.

She opened her eyes then and glared at him a little. "He doesn't sleep with you, either."

"Are you two like, an item or something?" Mark asked, pointing a finger at them.

"That's good, play dumb," Tristan said, not amused.

"Hey, I'm more confused now than ever."

"About what? I'm surprised you aren't looking smug about it as usual."

Mark pointed at the door. "I just saw someone named Lorelai out in the hall. I didn't know you were into cougars."

"You saw my Mom," Rory said. "And she would not like to be called a cougar."

Mark looked at Tristan with an incredulous look. "Her mother too? What is wrong with you?"

"What? Nothing," Tristan answered defensively. Rory put a hand up to her mouth and whispered something into his ear. "Oh. Right. I forgot." He pointed to Rory. "Lorelai Leigh Gilmore."

"You saw my mom. She named me after herself."

"How many names do you have?" Mark asked.

"Probably more than necessary. But Rory is the preferred one."

"Well aren't you clever," Mark said to Tristan.

"I like to think so."

"It's true, he does," Rory said with a nod. "Didn't you see my name on that document you signed a month ago?"

"He didn't know what he was signing," Tristan said. "For all he knows, he and I are legally married."

"We aren't, are we?"

Tristan grinned. "Congratulations, Mrs. DuGrey."

"Could we at least take my last name?"

"No."

Mark just shook his head and looked at Rory. "You didn't have any trouble getting here last night, did you?"

"No, I was fine. I called home and my stepdad talked me through it. Which is why Mom came."

"I told you you'd figure it out."

"Figure what out?" Tristan asked.

"How to drive your car," Rory answered.

He looked pained. "You didn't break it, did you?"

"I don't think so. But maybe have it looked at, just in case."

The blonde woman from the hall walked in then and barely gave Mark a glance.

"Well hello, Paris," Tristan said.

"Hello," Paris answered.

She took a look at the medical equipment Tristan was hooked up to and picked the chart up from the end of the bed. "How are you feeling?" she asked him.

"Fine," he answered. "How are you?"

"Tired. I have to get going. There's a Morbidity and Mortality conference that I have to attend."

"Did you kill someone when you were slicing and dicing?" he leered.

She glared at him. "Would you like your hands sutured together?"

He shook his head. "No, not today."

"It wasn't me. It was one of my scalpel jock colleagues."

"I see. Thanks for coming down," he said.

"It was a favor to Rory, not to you."

"Okay. I still appreciate it."

She hung the chart back at the foot of the bed. "Don't get shot any more. Apparently she can be a little hysterical when you're hurt."

"I've already been forbidden."

Paris looked at Rory with a raised brow. Rory nodded meaningfully.

"All right then, I'm out of here."

"Thanks, Paris," Rory said. "And tell Doyle hi."

"Will do," Paris answered before leaving the room.

Mark watched her leave.

"Yes," Rory told him.

"What?" he said when he'd turned back.

"That's how she always is."

"Intense."

"There's never been a better word to describe her."

"Really? I might be able to think of a few," Tristan said.

"Be nice. She came to help," Rory said. "So when will you guys find out if Kurt Roberts strangled all those people?"

"We won't be able to work until we complete our psyche evaluations," Tristan answered.

"I'm going for mine this afternoon," Mark said. "I have the day off."

"Ask if they can send someone over while I'm in here," Tristan said. "I can get it knocked out too." He looked to Rory. "I'll get to talk about my feelings."

"Ooh, will you cry?" she asked.

"I might if they make me watch _Field of Dreams_."

"What about _Old Yeller_?_"_

"That might work, too."

"I'll see where Roberts stands when I go in," Mark said.

"Don't let Meyer know you're working during your mandatory time off," Tristan advised.

"Oh, that reminds me," Rory said. "He came by early this morning."

Tristan looked at her with furrowed eyebrows. "Did he say anything? To you?"

"Well, he asked how you were and I told him. He didn't say anything for a little while. Then, he looked at me and back to you, then he said '_fine_.' Then he left," Rory answered. "It was like he accepted that you were going to be okay, but he wasn't completely happy about it."

"I have a feeling that was about you more than me," Tristan said. "I think it was his blessing."

"What?"

"If I'm not mistaken, I'd say our boy got into some hot water yesterday," Mark said with a grin.

Tristan nodded. "Yeah, he got on my case. He saw you leave. Let me rephrase that. He saw me say good bye to you."

"Uh-oh," Rory said with a cringe.

"Don't worry. I had a defense ready. I must have effectively lawyered him."

"You know, now that I think about it," Mark said, "the law school thing explains why you're so bossy all the time."

"I am not bossy," Tristan protested. "I just . . . know things."

"Whatever," Mark said, standing up. "I might come by again later. But for now I have a lunch date at River East Elementary. That's right. People other than you two can have lunch dates." He pointed at them as he said it. "I'll see you two crazy kids later."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

"So what do you think?" Rory asked. "Do you want to try the hospital food for dinner or do you want to order out?"

"Let's order something," Tristan answered.

"Okay, what do you want?"

He shrugged. "Pizza's fine."

"Pizza it is then," she said as she took out her phone to order. She was finishing up when Mark entered the room for the second time that day.

"Huge news," he said. "Roberts' prints matched the ones in his apartment—obviously—and the ones on the grade book in Lance Sooner's dorm room."

"So he did do it," Rory said. "I saw his transcript. He had to withdraw from economics twice before this semester."

"And he wasn't doing well, either," Tristan said.

"He was a marketing major. I think that's a sign to switch majors," Mark commented.

"Why would he kill his roommate?" Rory asked.

"According to his bank statements," Mark started, "he was the one who wrote the check for the rent. So McKenzie would have had to pay Roberts his half. Here, check out the dates." He handed Tristan several month's worth of bank statements. It had certain dates highlighted in yellow.

Beside him, Rory looked too. "It looks like Scout paid his half later and later every month."

"And he still owes for May," Tristan added. "So, what? He snapped and wanted his money?"

"I guess," Mark said with a shrug.

"So if his prints matched the ones in Lance's dorm room, then that means they matched the ones found on the file cabinet in Dr. Greene's office, right?" Rory asked.

Both men nodded. "He's already been charged with the three murders," Mark said.

"Why would he have killed Aaron Wilson?"

Tristan shrugged. "The prosecutor won't care why as long as we can prove that he did it."

"But won't you need to figure that out if you want to know whether or not Vernon Anderson was connected?"

"I suppose," he conceded.

"I'm going in tomorrow," Mark said. "I'll see what I can find out."

"I'll be working a little tomorrow too," Rory said. "Well, sort of. Someone told me that there's a memorial service at City College for all the victims."

"Did your minion tell you that?" Tristan asked.

"Maybe." Her phone rang and she answered. She hung up a moment later. "The pizza's here. I have to go downstairs to get it." She looked at Mark. "Would _you_ like to stay and have some?"

"Sure, you're so nice. For a reporter."

"I won't tell anyone you admitted that."

"That's decent of you."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

The next morning, Rory walked down the hallway of the hospital and went into Tristan's room. Mark was already there, sitting in one of the chairs. They were both bent over stacks of papers on their laps.

"What's going on?" she asked them, setting a couple newspapers down on a table.

"We're going through the e-mails from Sterling and McHill," Tristan answered. "We found this one from Vernon Anderson, it was about some program. They were going to sell the college textbooks for less."

"Yeah, I learned about that when I did an interview at McHill. Some of the executives actually thought the burden of college was enough without the added cost of books. I wrote about it in the article that didn't get published."

"Apparently Anderson was the one to think it up," Tristan said.

"Do you think Kurt killed him? Was he at that work event with his uncle?" Rory asked.

"I don't know," Mark said. "He confessed to the other three this morning. But he's being tight lipped about the other two."

"Did it seem like he knew something, though?" Tristan asked.

"Yeah, I got the impression that he did. Not that he can really deny killing Wilson. We have his prints and two videos that show him with Aaron before he was killed. I don't know why he isn't confessing to that one if he already took credit for the other three."

"Have you guys talked to his uncle?" Rory asked.

"Not yet. I'm going to bring him in for questioning today," Mark said, checking his watch. "Actually, I'm going to head out now. I'll see you later." He left Tristan and Rory alone.

"And I'm going to go to the memorial service at City College," Rory told him. "I just wanted to stop by to see how you are today."

"Still kicking," he said.

"All right, I'll be back afterwards," Rory said, giving Tristan a kiss before leaving.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

It was later on in the afternoon when Rory returned, Tristan was on his phone when she walked in.

"Mm-hmm. Sure. Okay. I'll have to check my schedule. Bye, Mom," Tristan said before hanging up.

"Mom?" Rory said with a raised brow.

"Mm-hmm. The grape vine can work rather quickly in Hartford," Tristan said. "Plus, there's a little birdie that likes to deliver messages."

Mark must have been in the elevator after Rory's, because he walked in then and took a seat. "We got them."

"Them?" Rory asked.

He nodded. "John Warner didn't kill anyone, but he was embezzling money from McHill. He was just moving a decimal here and there so no one would notice. It was never a very noticeable amount. And would you like to know where the two hundred thousand dollars went after he withdrew it?"

"An off shore account?" Tristan tried.

"No. We found a mutual fund with Roberts' name on it. It had the same amount invested the day after it was withdrawn from Warner's account."

"Did Kurt know about the money?" Tristan asked.

"He said he didn't, but he looked surprised when I asked him about it."

"What did Aaron Wilson hear after his interview?" Rory asked.

"I talked to the woman on the other side of Warner's cubicle—"

"Janet," Rory finished.

The detectives both gave her a look, but didn't say anything about it. "Yeah, Janet," Mark said. "She heard Warner arguing with someone one day about that program you mentioned yesterday. The one that was Anderson's idea. And Kurt was with his uncle at that event Sterling put on the night Anderson was killed. But they left separately."

"What did he do? Wait for Anderson to leave so he could follow him home?" Tristan asked.

"Apparently," Mark answered. "His shoe size fits the print in the mud at his house."

"I guess John didn't like the idea of selling the textbooks for less if he was skimming a little off the top for himself," Rory commented.

"Yeah, I don't think Kurt wanted to rat his uncle out for stealing from his employer, so he didn't confess to those until today," Mark said.

"When I was at probate court, I saw that Kurt's parents didn't have much to leave him when they died."

"He was an acquaintance of Wilson and knew he was sniffing around. Roberts lured him into the science building, hoping to make it look like Greene did it. And why not? What're the chances of someone previously accused of murder to look innocent?"

"_That's_ when I saw him the first time," Rory said, snapping her finger. "He was outside the science building after Aaron was found. I thought he was out for a morning jog."

"I guess you were right," Tristan said. "He was returning to the crime scenes."

"Gosh I love it when I'm right," she said. "So he'll be pleading guilty?"

"His defense lawyer could have him decant his confession," Tristan said. "But it'll be hard with his fingerprints on everything. He may have been tidy about it, but he left just enough."

"I need to get back," Mark said. "I just wanted to let you know that I got the confession."  
"Good work," Tristan said. "I'll see you later."

Mark left, leaving Tristan and Rory. Rory started to read a book and Tristan found a movie on television. But after a while, he turned the volume down low and Rory thought she heard him start to say something.

"What?" she asked, glancing over.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"No, it sounded like you had something to say."

"I was just going to ask," he started slowly, "if you ever regret telling him no."

"Who?"

"The Huntzburger you turned down," Tristan said, using the words Lorelai had used the week before.

"Oh. Logan," Rory said.

Tristan shook his head again. "Don't answer that. It's none of my business."

"No, I'll answer," she said. She closed her book and paused in consideration before answering. "No. I've never regretted it."

"You don't have to tell me what I want to hear just because I'm injured."

"When have I ever told you something because it's what you wanted to hear?"

"Never."

"Then believe me when I say it. I haven't regretted saying no. But I did love him. And I _had_ imagined us getting married. But it was a hypothetical thought. When he actually asked me—and in front of all those people," she shook her head a little and covered her eyes with her hand at the memory. "I was caught so off guard. And not in a good way. I just wanted him to put the velvet box back in his pocket and stop talking."

Rory took her hand away from her eyes. Tristan continued to listen in silence as she went on. "After I pulled him away from the eyes of the crowd, I said I needed time to think. And then I asked my mother what I should do. I'm not sure, being a girl, but I don't think that's the kind of response a guy hopes for."

"I don't think it is either," Tristan said.

"And it gets worse. While he was out in California, planning our future there, I already knew that I had no intentions of moving there with him. I knew before he even asked," Rory said before thoughtfully going on. "I might not have needed time to think about my answer if I'd already had a job offer."

Both were quiet for a moment.

"That isn't to say I wanted to break up, though," she continued. "I didn't. I asked if we could do long distance, but he didn't want to. So that was the end for us. It was terrible. For a while I felt sick just thinking about it. So I threw myself into work. And I didn't date anyone for a long time. It didn't seem right. It was a big relationship after all, so I needed some time away from it."

"But you got better?" Tristan asked.

Rory nodded. "Yeah. And it's been seven years. I've had time to think about it and gain perspective. I can admit to myself that he and I just weren't on the same page. It wasn't the first time either, when I'm being honest with myself. And Logan was right. Long distance wouldn't have worked. It would have just strung things out a little longer."

"So," Tristan said. "No regrets then?"

She shook her head and joined him on the bed as she had the day before. "No. Why would I have regrets? I got to write about a presidential campaign and be a White House correspondent. If I hadn't done that I wouldn't have gotten to see first hand how childish and self-centered our lawmakers are. Then I never would have given it up to come to New York. And I love New York City. I'm supposed to be here. I want to be here."

"With me. In a hospital bed," he added, a bit flatly.

"Yes—although, the hospital part I can do without."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. Feel better now?"

"Not really. It didn't seem like _we_ were on the same page last week."

"Really?"

"No. Do _you_?"

"It was a bad week, I can't deny it. But we brought it on ourselves," Rory reasoned. "Think about what the issue was. We both want a few more people to know about us."

"I guess so," Tristan agreed.

"I'm not saying we're always on the same paragraph, but I think the page number is the same."

"The whole notion must be bizarre for you."

Rory nodded. "Sometimes life can throw you things you never could have predicted."

"Don't I know it?" Tristan said. "Hey, did you write an editorial?"

"No, why?" Rory asked. She picked up the _Daily News_, which was already open to the right section. Tristan pointed to the piece he was referring to. She scanned it with a frown. "How did that get in here? Jimmy said he couldn't print it."

"Why not?"

"He said it made it seem like the paper is a little bit in love with the NYPD."

"That's ridiculous."

"I know, how can a paper love a police department?" she said, shaking her head as she put the paper back down.

She lied back down and they stayed like that for a while before Rory spoke again. "You know, with all this college business, I've been thinking that I should finally take the plunge and go to graduate school."

"Have you?"

"Yeah. It seems to be popular to go to both Harvard and Yale."

"It's no big deal," Tristan said. "We don't have t-shirts or anything. And I can teach you the secret handshake."

Rory smiled. "Harvard _is_ pretty far from New York."

"Four hours."

"Mm-hmm. Do you know who has a really excellent graduate school of journalism?"

"Who?"

"Columbia University. And it's right here in Manhattan."

"Your chances of winning a Pulitzer would be greater too."

"I have noticed that statistic," Rory said. "Now, this would mean that we won't have attended both of the same schools. But I can think of something else that we have in common."

"What's that?"

"We've both kissed Paris."

"That's the important thing anyway," Tristan said with a grin.

_**Fin**__****_


End file.
